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4. V6l. IV 
pt.-Oct., 1903 

^^ultitnn J^umber 

35 Cents 
Founded In 1S99 






I I 

Being a MISCELLANY of Curiously Interesting and GENERALLY UNKNOWN 
Facts about the World's Lit^ature and literary people; newly ar/itm^ed^ 
voiih Incidental Divertissement, and all very DELIGHTFtlL TO READ. ^?r 



Chaucer as a Book-Loyer 

Dedicatfon Ode, Carnegie Library, 

Treasures in the Y. M. C. A. Library 

Walton's Autograph 

A Remarkable Literary Discovery 

Qautier, the Impeccable 

The Romantic Twentieth Century 

Emir Abdur Rahman Kahn as an 

Rime du Bibliophile 

School-Room Humors 

At Osciair Wilde's Grave 

Book Sales of Dr. Johnson^s Father 

Mr. Dooley and Mr. Thackeray 

Forgotten Southern Authors 

The Polygamous Poet 

Full of Strange Oaths 

Jilmes Clarence Mangan 

A Chapter in the History of Para- 
dise Lost 

The Buyers of Old Books 

About Sainte Bewe 


Frank R, Stockton — A Memorial 

Recollections of l^rankR^ Stockton 


















The Making of Bret Harte 
Don Vincente, the Assassin Book- 
The Book-Lover's Heaven 
Books Once Owned by Napoleon 

On Reading 

Ballade of the Bookman's Para- 
How Great Minds Jump 
Hallucinations of a Book- Lover 
One of the Editors. A Tale 
On Book Criticisms 
Reminiscences of Hawthorne and 

Samuel Pepys' Library 
W. E. Henley. A Sketch 
Abraham Cowley 
Henry Fielding's Last Newspaper 
Nature in Brct^Harte's Poems 
Copy of "Burns" Brings $5,000 
In Quest of the Literary Bohemia 
The Literature of Prints 
Book Sales of the London Season 
Sdme Recent Book $B\ts 
John Burroughs and WafffWhlt- 
man /^^ ^ 

377 Current Literature 

J L L \/ S T "R A T E T) 


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Entered at the New York Post Office as mail matter of the second class. 
Copyright, 1903, by The Consolidated Retail Booksellers. 

. X)0' 2-0 . 

Vol. IV 


No. 4 


289 Chaucer as a Book-Lover. Lorenzo Sears. 

292 Dedication Ode, Carnegie Library, Atlanta. 

Chas. W. Hubner. 

293 Treasures in Y. M. C. A. Library. Emily Wilder. 

294 Walton's Autograph. 

295 A Remarkable Literary Discovery. 

296 Gautier, the Impeccable. Edgar Saltus. 

296 Gladstone and Verlaine. 

297 The Romantic Twentieth Century. Minnie D. 

300 Amir Abdur Rahman Kahn as an Author. 
Charles Johnston. 

303 Rime du Bibliophile. Frankfort Sommerville. 

304 School- Room Humors. 

305 At Oscar Wilde's Grave. Robert H. Sherard. 

307 Book Sales of Dr. Johnson's Father. 

308 Mr. Dooley and Mr. Thackeray. 

309 Forgotten Southern Authors. Andrew James 


312 The Polygamous Poet. William Wallace White- 


313 Full of Strange Oaths. Arthur Hayden. 

315 James Clarence Mangan. 

316 A Chapter in the History of Paradise Lost. 

F. S. Ellis. 

319 The Buyers of Old Books. 

320 About Sainte Beuve. 

321 Book-Plates. Malcolm Chandler. 

326 Frank R. Stockton : A Memorial Sketch. Marian 

E. Stockton. 
332 Recollections of Frank R. Stockton. George 

Cary Eggleston. 

334 A Future for Poets. 

335 The Making of Bret Harte. 


336 The Bookworm. 

337 Don Vincente, the Assassin Bookseller. 

Carlyle and His Wife. 
The Book-Lover's Heaven. Tom Masson. 
The Author of "There Is No Death." 
Books Once Owned by Napoleon. 
Sonnet on the Sonnet. Dexter Smith. 
Trollope and the Priest. 

343 On Reading. 

344 Ballade of the Bookman's Paradise. Clinton 


Ballade of Old Authors. John Buchan. 

How Great Minds Jump. J. Rivers. 

Hallucinations of a Book- Lover. 

One of the Editors. A Tale. S. Virginia Levis. 

Eugene Field's Poems in Photographic Fac- 

On Book Criticisms. 

Reminiscences of Hawthorne and Poe. Richard 
Henry Stoddard. 

Samuel Pepys' Library. Ernest A. Savage. 

Hawthorne and the Homesick BOy. 

W. E. Henley. A Sketch. Francis Thompson. 

Abraham Cowley. D. C. Sapp. 

360 Henry Fielding's Last Newspaper. 

361 Nature in Bret Harte's Poems. 
Copy of "Burns" Brings $5,000. 
In Quest of the Literary Bohemia. 
The Literature of Prints. 
Book Sales of the London Season. 
Some Recent Book Sales. 

375 John Burroughs and Walt Whitman. 
377 Current Literature. 







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Siaff of Editorial Contributors to The Book-Lover 

The Book-Lover is edited by Warren Elbridge Price, assisted by the following eminent men of letters. They have 
consented, in addition to their original contributions, to collate for The Book-Lover generally unknown facts and book- 
lore that would be ot peculiar interest to book -lovers, such as are hidden away among the archives, and not likely to be 
come upon save by masters in their reading and research. 

Edward Winslow Ames, Secretary 
Legation of the United States of 
America, Buenos Aires, Argentine 

Arlo Bates, Professor of English 
Literature, Massachusetts Insti- 
tute of Technology, Boston, Mass. 

Henry A. Beers, Professor English 
Literature, Yale University, New 
Haven, Conn. 

M. D. Bisbee, Librarian Dartmouth 
College Library, Hanover. N. H. 

A. P. Bourland, A. M., Professor 
English Literature Peabody Col- 
lege, Nashville, Tenn. 

W. H. Brett, Librarian Public Li- 
brary, Cleveland, Ohio. 

Henry A. Buchtel, LL. D., Chancel- 
lor of the University of Denver, 
University Park, Colorado. 

John Vance Cheney, Librarian The 
Newberry Library, Chicago, ill. 

Rt. Rev. Thomas J. Conaty, D. D., 

J. C. D., Los Angeles, California. 

Byron Cummings, A.M., Professor 
Ancient Languages and Litera- 
ture, University of Utah, Salt Lake 


Amos Noyes Currier, LL. D., Dean 
of the College of Liberal Arts, 
University of Iowa, lowa City, lowa. 

Isaac N. Demmon, LL. D., Pro- 
fessor English and Rhetoric, Ann 
Arbor University, Ann Arbor, nich. 

Richard Qarnett, C. B., LL. D., 
Late Keeper of Printed Books, 
British fluseum, 27 Tanza Road, 
Parliament Hill N W, London, Eng. 

Charles Mills Qayley, Litt. D., LL. 
D., Professor of English Lan- 
guage and Literature, University 
of California, Berkeley, Cai. 

John W. Hales, M. A., Professor 
of English Literature, Kings' Col- 
lege, London, England. 

Henry L. Hargrove, Ph. D., Pro- 
fessor English Literature, Bay- 
lor University, Waco, Texas. 

William Rainey Harper, Ph. D., 
D. D., LL. D., President of the 
University of Chicago, Chicago, in. 

George Harris, D.D., LL. D., Pres- 
ident Amherst College, Amherst, 


George William Harris, Librarian 
Cornell University Library, Ithaca, 
N. Y. 

James Taft Hatfield, Professor 
German Literature, Northwest- 
ern University, Evanston, III. 

John Russell Hayes, Assistant 
Professor English Literature, 
Swarthmore College, swarthmore. 


Caroline Hazard, President Welles- 
ley College, Wellesley, Hass. 

Ottilie Herholz, Professor of Ger- 
man Language and Literature, 
Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 

John H. Hewitt, LL. D., Acting 
President and Garfield Professor 
of Ancient Languages, Williams 
College, Williamstown, Mass. 

Honorable David J. Hill. LL. D., 
Assistant Secretary of State, 

Washington, D. C. 

Charles W. Hubner, Ass't Librarian 
Carnegie Library, Atlanta, Oa. 

Theodore W. Hunt, Professor Eng- 
lish Literature, Princeton Univer- 
sity, Princeton, N. J. 

Wm. D. W. Hyde, D. D., LL. D , 
President Bowdoin College, 
Brunswick, Maine. 

Honorable John B. Jackson, United 
States Minister to Greece, Athens. 

Edmund J. James, Ph. D., Presi- 
dent Northwestern University, 
Evanston, III. 

Morris Jastrow, Jr., Librarian and 
Professor of Semitic Languages, 
University of Pennsylvania, 

Philadelphia, Pa. 

Burritt A. Jenkins, A. M., Ph. D.. 
President University of Ken- 
tucky, Louisville, Ky. 

R. H. Jesse, LL. D., President the 
University of Missouri, Columbia, 


Charles F. Johnson, Professor Eng- 
lish Literature, Trinity College, 
Hartford, Conn. 

Richard Jones, Ph D., Professor of 
English Literature, Vanderbilt 
University, Nashville, Tenn. 

John W. Jordan, Librarian His- 
torical Society of Pennsylvania, 

1300 Locust Street. Philadelphia, Pa. 

Charles W. Kent, Professor Eng- 
lish Literature, University of 
Virginia, Charlottesville, Va. 

Harry Lyman Koopman, Librarian 
Brown University, Providence, R. I. 

Edward H. Magill, A. H., LL. D., 
Emeritus Professor of the French 
Language and Literature, 
Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, 


Rev. Ezekiel Mundy, Librarian 

Public Library, Syracuse, N. Y. 

Chas. E. McClumpha, Ph. D., Pro- 
fessor of English Language and 
Literature, University of Min- 
nesota, Minneapolis, Minn. 

Fenton R. McCreery, Secretary 
Embassy of the United States of 
America, Mexico City, Mexico. 

B. O. Mclntire, Professor of Eng- 
lish Literature, Dickinson CoU 
lege, Carlisle, Pa. 

Daniel Boardman Purinton, Ph. D., 
LL. D., President and Professor 
of Philosophy of the University 
of West Virginia, Morgantown, w. 

J. W. Riddle, Secretary Embassy 
of the United States of America, 
St. Petersburg, Russia. 

Clinton Scollard, A. M., sometime 
Professor of English Literature 
in Hamilton College, Clinton, N. y. 

Duncan Campbell Scott, Editor of 
•• The Makers of Canada," Ottawa. 


Lorenzo Sears, Professor Ameri- 
can Literature, Brown University, 
Providence, R. I. 

Professor Felix Emanuel Schelling, 
Ph. D., Professor of History and 
English Literature, University of 

Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Frank Dempster Sherman, Adjunct 
Professor of Architecture, Colum- 
bia University, New York, N. Y. 

L. A. Sherman, Professor English 
Language and Literature, Univer- 
sity of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. 

Henry O Sibley, A. M., Ph. D., 
Librarian and Professor of Li- 
brary Economy, Syracuse Uni- 
versity, Syracuse, N. Y. 

Isidore Singer, Ph. D. , Projector 
and Managing Editor of The Jew- 
ish Encyclopedia, 30 Lafayette Place. 
New York. 

Qlen Levin Swiggett, Professor ct 
Germanic Languages, University 

of Missouri. Columbia, Mo. 

Robert Velverton Tyrrell, Litt. D , 
LL. D., D.C. L., Fellow of Trinity 
College, Dublin. Ireland. 

Jacob Voorsanger, Professor Sem- 
itic Languages and Literature, 
Rabbi Temple Emanu-EI, 1249 

Franklin Street, San Francisco. Cal. 

Benjamin Ide Wheeler, Ph. D., 
LL. D, , President University of 

California, Berkeley, Cal 

Charles Lincoln White, D, D., 
President and Professor of Moral 
Philosophy, Colby College, 

Watervllle, Maine. 

Edwin Wiley, H. A., Professor of 
English Literature and Assistant 
Librarian Vanderbilt University, 

Nashville, T«nn 

George E. Woodberry, Profesfor 
Comparative Literature, Columbia 
University, New York. 

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The Book- Lover 

Number 20. 

Sept.-Oct., 1905 


By Lorenzo SeoLrs. 

Next to his delight in the month of May came 
Chaucer's love for books. This does not crop 
out in his verse so often as his fondness for 
the flowers, birds, and sunshine of the fifth 
month, but there is no mistaking his sympathy 
with books and readers, of whom he was one 
of the most diligent; and diligence in reading 
was no light affair in the century before Guten- 
berg and Caxton began to print books, however 
carefully copies had been made with pen and 
ink. The very cost and scarcity of these im- 
plies some zest on the part of so widely read 
a person as the father of English poetry was 
for his time. Any one who has seen Occleve's 
portrait of him in his "De Regimine Princi- 
pium," or a good copy of it, would know that 
he was a lover of books. It corresponds so 
well with his description of himself in the lines 
which he put into the mouth of the Host 
in the Prologue to Sire Thopas: 

"... 'What man art thou?' quod he, 
'Thou lokest as thou woldest fynde an hare, 
For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.'" 

Much reading and much writing had evi- 
dently given him the abstracted air of a scholar, 
if not his deliberate gait and the slight stoop 
which completes the portraiture. In the pau- 
city of unquestioned material for his literary 
biography, his works must be depended upon 
to indicate the extent and character of his 

By his own confession there was but one at- 
traction greater than his books, saying in the 
"Prologue to Legende of Goode Women:" 

"And as for me, though that I knowe but lyte. 

On bokes for to read I me delyte, 

And to hem give I feyth and ful credence. 

And in myn herte have them in reverence 

So hertely, that there is game noon 

That fro my bokes maketh me to goon; 

But yt be seldom on the holy day, 

Save certenly whan that the monethe of May 

Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, 

And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, 

Fairewel my boke and my devocioun!" 

By this time some reader may agree with 
Artemus Ward that "Mr. Chaucer was doubt- 
less a grate poet, but didn't know how tew 
spel." Allowances being made for a formative 
period of the language, Chaucer's system of 
orthography is not wholly explained, since 

within the compass of a page he spells a word 

in several ways. It is better to allow him the 

privilege of the King's English in the age when 

Henry the Fifth wrote: "I wolle that the Due 

of Orlians be kept stille within the castil of 

Pontfret with owte goying to Robertis place 

or to any other disport: for it is better that 

he lak his disport than we were deceived." It 

was a golden age when every man did that 

which was orthographically right in his own 

eyes and lost no time in consulting dictionaries. 

Still, the poet seems to have had the best 

intentions : 

"And, for ther is so grete dyversite 
In Englissh, and in writynge of our tonge, 
So preye I to God, that none myswrite thee, 
And red wher so thow be, or elles songe, 
That thow be understonde. . . ." 

— Troylus, 1810. 

And it may have been his spelling rather than 

his diction of which he speaks in his " Dream" : 

"In playne English evill written; 
For sleepy writer, well ye written. 
Excused is though he mis, 
More than one that waking is." . . . 

He was as adroit here as in sacking respon- 
sibility for plain and broad speech upon " mine 
auctor" whom, he says, he does not always fol- 
low too exactly. 

Of diction itself he, too, could look backward 
a thousand years and say: 
"Ye knowe that in forme of speeche is chaunge 
Within a thousand yere, and wordes 
That hadden prys, now wonder nj^ce and straunge 
Us thinketh hem, and yet thai spake hem so." . . . 

As far the other side of Chaucer as we are 
from him he would find King Alfred translating 
Boethius into such vernacular English as this: 

"Buton la ic wilnode theah andweorce sto tham 
weorce the me beboden waes to wyrcanne," etc., 
to say nothing of Babylonish characters inter- 
mingled with our present alphabet at that time. 

It may be added that if the stranger to the 
poet's dialect will read by ear, many obscurities 
will vanish, notwithstanding an occasional ob- 
solete word. 

In the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales the 
poet betrays the sympathy of one scholar for 
another — the Clerk of Oxenford — despite his 
poor estate and secluded life, for which by all 
accounts Chaucer himself had no taste in his 




early years, being so much employed at court 
and about the Petty Customs business and 
errands abroad that one wonders how he found 
time for reading at all. Notwithstanding 
doubt as to his residence at either Oxford or 
Cambridge, his seclusion in Woodstock in later 
years and his allusion to Trompyngtoun indi- 
cates an acquaintance with both universities 
sufficient to make him a sympathizer with the 

"That unto logic hadde long tyme i-go, 

For him was lever have at his beddes heed 

Twenty bookes, clothed in blak and reed 

Of Aristotil, and of his philosophic, 

Than robus rich, or fithul, or sawtrie. 

But although he were a philosophre, 

Yet hadde he but litul gold in cofre; 

But al that he mighte gete, and his frendes sente. 

On bookes and his lernyng he it spente. 

Of studie tooke he most cure and heede; 

Not one word spak he more than was neede. 

And gladly wolde he leme, and gladly teche." 

Yet there is no word of ridicule for this 
spendthrift collector, as for many another 
wight whom the poet has deftly impaled to 
wriggle forever in the face of everlasting 

It is always interesting to observe what books 
have "influenced," as the phrase is, writers 
who leave something worth reading, especially 
when they are far removed from us in time 
or place. What were some of those which this 
"Father of English poetry" was fond of over 
five hundred years ago when Edward III. and 
Richard II. were kings, Jack Straw and Wat 
Tyler rebels, Wiclif a lecturer at Oxford, trans- 
lating the Bible into English and helping 
Chaucer crystalize the language? According 
to the temper of his time as well as his own 
disposition as an historical romancer, old 
authors were his favorites with one or two con- 
temporaries to be noted later. In the Pro- 
logue to the Legende of Goode Women his 
retrospective fancy appears when he remarks: 
"And yf that olde bokes were awey, 
Ylorne were of remembraunce the key. 
Wei ought us, thanne, honouren and beleve 
These bokes, there we han noon other preve." 
Indeed, he is inclined to attribute all later 
wisdom to them: 

"For out of olde feldys, as men seyth, 
Cometh all this new corne fro yere to ycre; 
And out of olde bokes, in good feyth, 
Cometh all this new science that men lere." 

And again: — 
" Of usage olde what for luste, what for love 
On bookes rede I oft, as you I tolde." 

And once more: — 

"Agon, hit happed me for to beholde 
Upon a booke was write with lettres olde; 
And thereupon, a certayne thing to lerne. 
The long day ful fast I read and yerne." 

So whenever he cites an authority or an ex- 
ample it is oftenest from an old author; and 
with good reason, since in his time new ones 
worth reading were scarce. The folios that 
Chaucer might read by favor in the royal house- 
hold, or which were perused by him when he 
was passing his declining years near Oxford, 
would be manuscript copies of the classics and 
the Fathers. This is indicated by an occa- 
sional list which he introduces, as in the Man 
of Lawes prologue, of mythologic and historic 
names, as well as by the authors that he cites 
with readiness whenever he wishes to fortify 
a statement of his own. Scattered here and 
there, singly or in groups, and sometimes in 
queer company, are foimd Biblical books and 
pagan writings, saints' lives and the loves of 
heathen gods and men, the proverbs of Solo- 
mon and of Ptolemy's Almagest, the wisdom 
of Seneca and the wit of Juvenal, the doctrine 
of Augustine and the philosophy of Boethius, 
the preaching of Ambrose and Jerome, the 
poetry of Lucan and Ovid, with many an- 
other Christian and pagan name that had 
reposed side by side in monastic libraries 
through mediaeval centuries. Even now in 
English university libraries the bulk of books 
appears to consist of ancient folios which are 
allowed to sleep undisturbed in dignity and 
dust, while readers are occupied with latest 
arrivals, if their taste inclines them to modem 

This in the fourteenth century and for 
Chaucer was not largely in his own tongue, but 
in| Romance dialects and chiefly from Italy, 
where the new learning was flourishing, 
and where as a consequence a new literature 
was springing up. Although almost every as- 
sertion about him has been disputed, it would 
appear from his own lines that the poet had 
met Petrarch in one of his visits to Italy, and 
that while there he had discovered enough 
material to furnish him with fresh reading on 
his return home and an abundance of romance 
to recast in new forms in an age when appro- 
priation, like theft in Sparta, was more credit- 
able than criminal, — the virtue of it lying in 
the cleverness with which it was accomplished. 
Moreover Genius is a highwayman who scatters 
with a free hand, and an husbandman who 
distributes a large harvest in the autumn from 
the seed he stole in the spring. Besides, Chau- 
cer improved greatly the quality of the grain 
that he brought out of Italian storehouses. 
He was, accordingly, such a reader of Boccaccio 
and other writers of novella as could re-create 
for his countrymen the literature of southern 
Europe, including the fables of France, of 



which the " Roman de la Rose" was a favorite. 
In thus importing Continental letters he be- 
came a promoter of literature at home, con- 
tributing to the revival of learning in England. 
Later poets might follow him with less book- 
loving, but perpetuation of ancient and middle- 
age lore and transfer of Romance treasures 
were needed as a foundation for builders that 
should follow this earliest master. They needed 
to know what had been said and how, before 
their own personality and originality could be 

Aside from the numerous passages contain- 
ing authors' names or citations from their 
works, there is now and then a stroke of wit 
or sentiment which reveals something more 
than impersonal fondness for books appropri- 
ate to the clerkly character in hand. Such, 
for example, is the encounter between the 
Wife of Bath and her fifth husband, the jolly 
clerk of Oxford, who floored her with his fist 
for tearing three leaves out of the book that 
contained so many instances of wicked wives 
— a favorite volume with the masterful Jankyn. 
It is not strange that his capricious spouse should 
tire of hearing about Delilah, Dejanira, Xan- 
tippe, and other variations of errant Eve ; but 
the poet makes the tearing of "Valerye and 
Theophrast" not much less a misdemeanor than 
those of Exiphiles and Clytemnestra. Lyma 
and Lucia. At least it was a justifiable cause 
for domestic sparring in an age when a book 
of the size of the Bible might be worth four 
or five hundred dollars, and it is easy to see 
that the poet's sympathies lay with the book, 
if not with its owner; for the jar ends with the 
wife's supremacy. There is no reason to sup- 
pose that Philippa Roet of Hainault, sister to 
John of Gaunt's wife, otherwise Madame 
Geoffrey Chaucer, disturbed her husband's 
scholarly pursuits, giving personal point to the 
sketch, even though she had been one of the 
demoiselles in attendance on the Queen, and 
not studiously inclined herself. 

It would be burdening these columns to cite 
all the passages in which the poet's fondness 
for books and reading crops out. Only a few 
more of the accumulated examples can be 
added as a confirmation of the conviction which 
every reader must have that, as has been al- 
ready remarked, next to the month of May, 
its birds and flowers, Chaucer had his books 
nearest his heart — for ten months of the year 
at least — since he occasionally favors April 
also, especially for pilgrimages. More than 
the two next poets who succeeded him in the 
first grade he was a wide reader, and, moreover, 
to good purpose: 

"I woke, and other bookes I took me to 
To rede upon; and yet I rede alway. 
I hope truly to rede so some day, 
That I shall mete something for to fare 
The better, and thus to rede I will not spare." 

— Assembly, 691. 
The orthography in this and the following 
excerpts has been modernized where the aver- 
age reader's immediate apprehension is of 
more consequence than conformity to any of 
the varying texts extant, no one of which 
Chaucer himself ever saw. 

So, too, the love of books is to him one of 
the titles of nobility in a character he delights 
to honor, as Zenobia, for example: 

"To lerne bookes was all her liking;" 
and to the heavens his highest tribute is that 
they are 

"a book written with stars." 

In a dream of a place fair as a paradise to him 
he saw 

"some to read old romances, 

Themselves occupied for their pleasences. 

Some to make ballads and lays, 

And some to other diverse plays: 

But I to me a romance took 

And as I reading was the book . . ." 

Many have taken up a drowsy volume to in- 
duce sleep, but few have found a romance 

"to read and drive the night away 

. . . better play 
Than either chess or tables." 

And when he awakes out of sleep in the House 

of Fame he returns to his old habit, 

"to study and read alway 
I purpose to do day by day." 

For such diligence he is commended by Aufri- 

"Thou hast thee so well borne 

In looking of my old book all to torn 

That something of thy labor would I requite." 

Reading itself the poet found was a useful if 

not unusual accomplishment in his day : 

"And for that I was lettered, there I read 
The statutes whole of Love's Court and Hall." 

Other examples of the poet's devotion to 
books and reading might be cited, for they 
are constantly bubbling up from the depths 
of his poetic thought; but the temptation to 
quote them must be resisted, also to discuss 
any other characteristic or quality than this 
one, such as his wisdom and wit, his humor 
and pathos, his uncommon sense, his sane 
philosophy, his sound criticism. Even the 
question of good taste in perpetuating the 
coarseness of a half-barbarous age can be dis- 
missed for once with assent to the supposition 
that his theory of representation required him 
to picture all kinds of people that he met, and 
that, like some later poets, he would gladly 




have blotted lines unworthy his genius. This, 
in spite of occasional blemishes, and notwith- 
standing all that he has suffered from copyists 
and wiseacres, this genius of his which was 
appreciated by contemporaries and by such of 
posterity as were willing to understand him, 
becomes more and more apparent in the re- 
vival of interest in early English studies. The 
fact that he has had a score of editors and 
critical biographers from Caxton to the latest 
and best of them. Professor Lounsbury of Yale, 
is an indication of the enduring interest 
Chaucer has maintained for the men of 
his race. 

The writer will remark in closing that the 

citations are from the Aldine edition, despite 
Lowell's strictures upon it, because the copy has 
been nigh at hand since it was bought in Lon- 
don in the five hundredth summer after Chau- 
cer started his pilgrims from the Tabard, whose 
track two of us followed by way of Gad's Hill 
and Rochester as well as modern facilities for 
a pilgrimage would permit. And though we 
did not find the 

"litel toun 
Which that is called Bob-up-an-doun, 
Under the Ble, in Canterbury way," 

we did find much to stimulate the historic im- 
agination, and to revive interest in the earliest 
of our greater poets. 

Brown University. 


By Cherries W. Hubner. 

Man, lift thyself to higher spheres, 
Surmounting what thy progress bars. 

As heir of the eternal years; 

Assert thy kinship with the stars. 

Come to this classic temple, where 
Each Muse hath her inviolate shrine; 

Come as an earnest worshipper, 

And soothe thy soul with dreams divine. 

Come with unsandaled feet, and hear 

The music of celestial choirs; 
Come, eat and drink, devoid of fear. 

The fruit and wine of high desires. 
Here Beauty weaves her magic spells 

To win the homage of the heart; 
Here, in this real dream-world, dwells 

The protean Genius of Art. 
Enter this Pantheon of the mind 

With reverent air, but fearless pace, 
And, wisely searching, thou shalt find 

The Truth, and see her face to face. 
Honor Truth's awful sanctity! 

Touch not her robe with unclean hands. 
So shalt thou find her good to thee; 

Nor dread the lightning of her glance. 

Here thou shalt breathe empyrean air. 
And, wandering through Elysian fields. 

Thou shalt on sweeter honey fare 

Than that which famed Hymettus yields. 

Here Science shall divulge to thee 
The wondrous secrets of the worlds, 

And lift the veil of mystery. 

Which Nature round her features furls. 

Here History, sceptered with the pen. 
Is throned, and thou canst read her scroll, 

Whereon are writ the deeds of men 
And nations, as the ages roll. 

Or if, by softer fancies swayed, 
The bliss of Song be thy desire, 

Lo, Poesy, the heavenly maid, 

Shall strike for thee her golden lyre. 

In ample halls, in cloistered nooks. 
Behold! a glorious company — 

God's aristocracy of books — 

Expectant stand to welcome thee. 

Here, through long ages garnered, find 
For hungry souls sufficing food: 

The godlike in the human mind. 
The true, the beautiful, the good. 

Let Labor come with toil-worn hands 
To search among these volumed leaves. 

Dig wealth from Learning's golden sands. 
And gather Wisdom's harvest-sheaves. 

Come, whosoever will: the wise. 

The rich, the poor, the low, the great; 

The eager child with wistful eyes. 
The Old, with step and mien sedate; 

Quick souls, aflame with great emprise. 
Or those on passing pleasure bent, 

Whate'er their quest, or their device. 
Shall crown it here, and be content. 

O man! in fields of deed and thought, 
How glorious now thy triumphs be! 

But grander works shall yet be wrought 
When Knowledge, like the sunshine, free. 

For aye shall break the ancient ban, 
Which Cant and Ignorance still decree. 

And liberate the soul of man 
From spiritual slavery. 

The Press is Truth's great battlefield. 
Whereon her foes she puts to rout ; 

Books are the weapons she will wield. 
The nobler age to bring about; 

Who now fears crowned or mitered lies? 

Who, to dethrone them, now would shrink? 
The whole foul host of Darkness flies 

From one brave soul that dares to think! 

To him, to whose benignant hand 
This splendid pile we owe to-day — 

The wise Maecenas of our land — 
What nobler tribute can we pay 

Than our heart's love, our reverent praise? 

A living wreath to crown his name — 
That shall outshine the poet's lays — 

Outlast the granite shafts of Fame! 

Carnegie Library, Atlanta, Ga. 


2 9.3 


By Emily WiMer. 

Few people, comparatively, are aware that, at Bologna in 1472; and a fine copy of S. 

in addition to the ordinary equipment of a Augustine's " De Civitate Dei" with some at- 

popular public library, the New York branch tempts at illuminating. This bears a Roman im- 

of the Young Men's Christian Association has print of 1474. Of Dante's " Divina Commedia" 

been enabled, through the generous aid of there is the edition of 1477, with the commentary 

special benefactions, to procure from time to of Benvenuto da Imola ; and also the Florentine 

time some of the rarities and luxuries of litera- of 1481, with three quaint illustrations, as soft 

ture only found, as a general thing, in great in tone as drawings. The commentary is that 

national institutions like the British Museum, of Christoforo Landini. The printer, Niccolo 

or on the shelves of wealthy private collectors, di Lorenzo della Magna, was probably a Ger- 

A few of these we propose to mention. There man established in Italy. Another Dante, of 

is a pretty little illuminated MS. of the fifteenth 1484, also with Landini's commentary, is from 

century, a Franciscan " Livre d'Heures de la the well-known press of Ottaviano Scotti, the 

B. V. M." Part of the calendar is missing, as most celebrated music printer of his day. 

well as the first leaf of the office, which has There are some sixty Bibles in the library 

been neatly supplied by a finely printed one, that were printed before 1700. The oldest is 

the initials and halos around heads of figures dated 1477. It is a double column quarto 

colored by hand. There are some miniatures, having some colored initials put in by hand, 

one very good. But the most precious MS. Another of the same size and style is from 

and the most remarkable of all these treasures the press of J. Zainer at Ulm, of the date of 

is the ponderous choir book of the Ambrosian 1480. An exquisite little Greek Testament, 

ritual. It is a MS. of the thirteenth century, published at Paris in 1546, is from the estab- 

on very heavy vellum, ornamented with about lishment of that maker of masterpieces, Robert 

forty fairly good miniatures, and many large Stephens. The binding, of fawn calf, is more 

initials. It contains the words and music of recent. A Bible in octavo bears the olive tree 

Metins, Vespers, and Mass throughout the of Stephens, but was printed for him by Conrad 

year. The present binding is probably of the Badius, who has used a type of eye-destroying 

seventeenth century. The covers are oaken fineness. There is a most beautiful copy of 

boards of great thickness, covered with stout the Douai Bible, in two small square volumes, 

black goat skin. Heavy bands of hand- Le Constrier's Roman edition of 1635, in a 

wrought brass, with enormous basses and solid rich dark brown binding. 

clasps make this beautiful folio a volume re- "A Paraphrase of the Acts of the Apostles," 

quiring strong hands to handle it. It was by Erasmus, 1524, is from the celebrated press 

appraised by experts at 50,000 francs or of Froben at Basle. It is handsomely bound 

$2,000. The Ambrosian rite is peculiar to the in brown leather gilded. A sermon, printed 

diocese of Milan, and has been in use there at Wittemberg, in 1531, has a preface by 

since the time of S. Ambrose, though the nota- Martin Luther. 

tion was somewhat later. The variations from Under a beautiful green morocco binding by 

the plain-chant of the Roman rite are not Thompson of Paris, is hidden a copy of the 

great. rare first edition of the " Acta gehaltner Disputa- 

The well-worn pages of this noble book, tiozuBernn." " Getruckt zu Zurich," by Chr. 

from which God has been praised and implored Forschoner, 1528. It has the arms of the 

by night and day for centuries, bring us very city of Berne on the title page, and the first 

near to all those generations of Christians now initial letter shows William Tell shooting the 

continuing their worship in the Choir Invisible, apple from his son's head. The type is a bold 

The oldest printed book in the collection is black letter. Calvin's Commentary on the 

a superb Livy, published in 1469, in three vol- Psalms is dated 1654. Ofthe"Clavis Linguae 

umes, square 4to. The red leather binding is Sanetoe Veteris Testamenti," etc., by Prof. C. 

modem. There is a copy at the British Mu- Stock, there is a copy of the edition of 171 7 

seum, but it lacks some leaves, and the one in and one printed at Jena by J. F. Bielck in 1739. 

the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris has some Thielman Kerver's exquisite work is repre- 

of its margins clipped. This is a perfect copy, sented by a beautiful Book of Hours (15 19), 

with fair wide margins, good to read and ad- on vellum, with many letters colored by hand, 

mire. There is a fine Diodorus Siculus, printed and fine borders to every page. A thin little 



book in a stamped leather binding, which has Inn, by Richard Sibbes, D.D., printed in 1677 
taken on a pecuHar salmon hue, was published for Mr. Chapman; "and are to be sould at his 
at Frankfort in 1586. It contains, in accord- shope at Chancery Lane End in Holbome." 
ance with its title, "Im Frauenzimmer," a col- It is dedicated to the "truly noble and much- 
lection of pictures of feminine costumes, many honoured Lady, the Lady Elizabeth Brooke, 
of religious orders. wife to Sir John Brooke." 

The oldest Aldine edition seems to be a little Unfortunately the library has only the first 

Italian treatise on Anthropology, by Capello, volume of the fine quarto edition of the Bible 

printed in 1533, in the Italic type. A gem of in French, published by J. Fr. Bronsart at 

a book is the Epistles of Cicero, bearing the Liege, in 1701. The cover is a sumptuous 

imprint of Aldus films, 1547. The binding, piece of modem work. 

of golden calf, is modem. The " Catechism A superb copy of the works of Jacob Cats, 

Royal" of theR. P. de Bonnefons, S. J., Paris, printed at Zwolle, in two quarto volumes, was 

1648, is very beautifully printed and illustrated, rebound in 1862 by J. Massley, in calf of three 

One of the most fascinating specimens of book- colors, a mosaic inlay of geometrical pattern, 

making is a volume of Catholic Devotions, pub- with silver clasps. Less conspicuous, though 

lished by Senault at Paris. It is embellished more precious in the eyes of certain connois- 

throughout with floral designs of extreme ele- seurs, because it is thought that it may have 

gance, and each page has been engraved from been made for Jean Grolier, is the binding, 

a copper plate. A rare work from the library in tawny red morocco, with designs in gold 

of an Italian noble, contains a couple of treat- very deeply tooled, of an " Office de la Semaine 

ises on the anatomy of the throat and ear, by Sainte," printed at Paris in 1724. This book 

Julius Cassere, Doctor in Medicine and Philoso- appears to have been given on New Year's 

phy, a famous physician and surgeon of Padua. Day, 1763, to Mile. Maugin de la Pastendrie, 

It is full of illustrations, exquisitely engraved, demeurant au Chateau de Sauniur, and borrow- 

showing the same organs in beasts, birds and ers are requested to return it. 
insects, as well as in man. It was produced A "Neue Testament," printed by D. Gesner at 

by the Court press at Ferrara in 1600, "sump- Zurich in 1778, has a well-worn binding of red 

tibus unitorum Patavioe," and is dedicated to velvet, with heavy frame and clasps of very 

Rainier Famese, Duke of Parma and Piacenza, good work, in silver-gilt. 

whose full-page portrait adorns the book, with Perhaps later two remarkable and valuable 

that of its author. It retains its original scrap-books may be described, 
parchment cover. New York City. 

From an Antwerp press, with the date of 

1654, comes a magnificent folio, bound in Walton's Autograph, 

parchment, with gold tooling-the " Novum j^ere are two interesting items from the 

Atlas Smensis; a Martmo Martinio Soc Jesu, catalogue of Messrs. Lowe Brothers, 45 New- 

descnptus. It is dedicated to Archduke Leo- ^^^^ ^^ Birmingham, England: 

pold William, and was perhaps pnnted by his . „ ' , . tt , ,r> 

J T^ • • t, J -It, _„ £ IzAAK Walton s Autograph. — Heme s (Samuel) 

command It is enriched with numerous fine Account of the Charter-House near Smithfield 

maps, and has a colored frontispiece, m which in London, portrait, 8w., original calf, with the 

the sun (of righteousness) is represented as Autograph of Izaak Walton on title-page 

illuminating the tripple-crowned figure that and that of his son H. Walton, 1683-4, on 

portrays the Church, which in turn reflects the "^"^ flyleaf, guaranteed genuine, £6. 6s. ^ 

Hght on that part of the globe where China Scrope's (William) Days and Nights of ''salmJn 
IS situated. Angels are carrying through the Fishing in the Tweed, with a short account of 

air the cross, the chalice, the ewer and the the Natural History and Habits of the Salmon, 

Bible, while fat, lusty little chembs dart about Instructions to Sportsmen, Anecdotes, &c., the 

with lighted torches. Below is seen a great ^■t''! f J^^"" ^d^t^on- J'"^^' nmnerous beau tt Jul 
J , ?j f , • 2. J.-L. 1 J £ J.A illustrations after Sir David Wilkie, Edwin and 
door held open for entrance into the land of the charles Landseer, &c., royal 8vo. original cloth, 
almond-eyed Celestials. uncut edges, a fine clean copy, exceedingly 
A most dainty volume is an Ovid of 1667 — scarce, ;£io. 105. 1843 
a lovely specimen from the renowned "Hack- Walton Autographs Perfectly Genuine. 
ian" press of Leyden and Rotterdam. A The book was published by Walton's pub- 
small book in brown leather, with a beautiful lisher and friend, Richard Marriot. It is 
pattern of gold tooling on the back, is the doubtless one of the books left by Walton to 
second edition of "A Fountain Sealed"; being his son in the little cabinet mentioned in his 
the substance of sermons preached at Gray's will, and now belonging to Mr. Elkin Mathews. 



A most interesting archeological discovery 
was recently made at Abusir, Egypt, by a Ger- 
man scholar named Ludwig Borchardt. In 
an ancient mummy case dating back to the 
age of Alexander or earlier, Herr Borchardt 
has found a papyrus roll containing an ode by 
Timotheus, the Greek poet and musician. The 
Independent chronicles the details of the dis- 
covery as follows: 

" By the head of the buried man lay the remains 
of a small leather purse, a sponge, a rusted piece 
of iron, a bit of wood, and a thin roll of papyrus. 
With infinite pains this roll was opened and, 
where broken, pieced together. It proved to be 
forty-three inches long and contained five columns 
of Greek writing. The first column was in a 
ruinous state, the second was not complete, but 
the three last were intact and gave the concluding 
verses of a poem, in which by good luck the poet 
speaks of himself by name. It was at once clear 
from the theme that we had here a portion of 
'The Persians,' a famous nome of Timotheus, of 
which two or three brief fragments were already 
in our anthologies." 

The Independent is much impressed by the 
importance of this literary find. It observes: 

"Only the Greek scholar can taste to the full 
the sweetness of such a discovery, but it must 
possess no slight interest even for 'the man of 
one tongue.' First of all it is the oldest manu- 
script Greek book yet known to exist, dating as it 
does from the fourth century before Christ. . . . 
It is the only fragment of any considerable length 
of the Greek nome, a form of ode or hymn which 
was originally employed in the worship of Apollo, 
but which had become gradually secularized until 
Timotheus completely altered its nature by making 
it a choral song. And it is furthermore the only 
fragment of any magnitude from the works of a 
great and much debated poet and musician." 

The poem itself is a description of the Battle 
of Salamis, which -^^schylus had already made 
the theme of his tragedy, " The Persians." We 
are told : 

"The style is highly condensed and metaphori- 
cal, not unlike the chorus of the Athenian tragedy. 
Here for the first time, so far as known, the sea, 
which to Homer was 'dark' or 'purple' or 'wine- 
colored,' is called 'emerald.' The poem is bril- 
liantly executed, but can scarcely be ranked among 
the greatest treasures of Greek poetry — indeed it 
is not likely that Timotheus would hold the same 
rank in our estimation as was given him in his 
own day. Historically, however, the poem is of 
immense interest, and its discovery gives greater 
warrant to our hopes that some day a comedy of 
Menander or the works of Sappho or another much- 
desired treasure may be found lying in a mummy 
case, where it was placed thousands of years ago 

to give entertainment to the departed soul on his 
long and perilous journey." 

Of Timotheus himself but little is known. 
He was born at Miletus in 442 B. C. and lived 
to be ninety years old. Furthermore: 

"He was during his long life famous for his skill 
in music and verse, and wandered much from 
city to city, as was the custom of public writers 
in those days, reaping the rewards of glory. His 
name in after-times became almost a synonym for 
musician, and it is thus, by a pardonable anachron- 
ism, that Dryden in his ode 'In Honor of Cecilia's 
Day ' introduces him into the court of Alexander : 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire. 
With flying fingers touched the lyre: 
The trembling notes ascend the sky. 
And heavenly joys inspire. 
"At Sparta, however, tradition maintained — 
and the present discovery confirms the story — he 
suffered some hardship and was driven from the 
city in disgrace. The incident is connected with 
the development of Greek music, a subject of 
impenetrable obscurity. Timotheus, it was be- 
lieved and is not certainly known, enlarged the 
lyre, which was employed in accompanying the 
nome, by the addition of an eleventh chord. Ap- 
parently also he introduced a new strain of emo- 
tionalism into song and attempted all sorts of 
descriptive music. Thus at Sparta, to the in- 
finite disgust of the staid and conservative folk 
of that town, he presented a dithyramb on the 
birth pangs of Semele, which must have been shock- 
ingly realistic. At least so it appeared to the 
senate of Sparta, for they gave orders that he 
should be reprimanded, and the offending chord 
or chords which he added to his lyre were publicly 
destroyed. Such is the tradition, and it is con- 
firmed, in part at least, by the complaint which 
he makes in this nome of 'The Persians.'" 

The Greek text of the newly found poem has 
just been published in Berlin by the German 
scholar. Professor Wilamowitz-Mollendorff . It 
is reprinted in The Independent, with an English 
translation by Paul Elmer More. From this 
translation we quote the following extracts (the 
numerals referring to the stanzas of the poem) : 
"... (4) And for the oars they threw out a 
great structure like a cornice, set with holes like 
teeth, strong to smite. And the heads of the 
stay -beams, projecting a little, swept away the 
enemy's oars. Now, if without warning so great 
a blow were given with these as to break the 
thwarts, then all the seamen would try to leap 
upon the hostile vessel; and if the shock threat- 
ened to fall like a thunderbolt on the ship's side, 
then with strong rowing they would pull the ship 
back. And as many of the oars as were broken 
and borne hither and thither, leaving bare the 
ship's flanks and the surrounding outworks, into 





these they dashed with the ram and struck them 
down so that they turned and sank headlong — 
but first all their beauty was destroyed by the iron 
head of the ram. . . . 

"(22) And like thunderbolts the murderous 
shafts were sent whirling from their hands, and on 
the bodies of the foe fell still quivering from their 
flight through the air. Masses of compact lead 
also were hurled, and flaming balls set on rods 
such as are used for lashing beasts of burden. And 
many were slaughtered by serpents having well- 
feathered wings and brazen heads and drawn tight 
by cords [that is, by arrows]. And the emerald 
sea in the depths of the waves turned crimson 
where fire spurted from the ships. And unceas- 
ingly arose the cries for help and groanings. . . . 

"(174) And when the barbarians hastened their 
flight back, then straightway they drew from their 
hands the two-edged javelins and tore their faces 
with their nails. The fair woven garments of 
Persia they rent about their breasts, and shrill 
rose the lamentation of the Asiatics. And all the 
multitude gathered together by the king, gave 
themselves up to much groaning because of their 
terror, beholding the sorrow to be. And when 
the king saw the mingled host turning to wild 
flight, he fell upon his knees and did violence to 
his body, and cried out in the tempest of his ca- 
lamities: 'Alas for the ruin of my home! Alas 
for the deadly fire of the Greek ships ' for ye have 
caused to perish all the young men of my army. 
The ships that were ours are lost and shall not 
bear us hence: the devouring might of fire with 
its fierce flame will bum them, and there shall 
be sorrow making moan for the land of Persia. 
Alas for the heavy fate that brought me into 
Greece. — But come, delay not; yoke the four- 
horse chariot, and others of you pile unreckoned 
wealth on the wagons, and set fire to the tents, lest 
there be any profit to them from our riches.' . . . 

"(210) And the Greeks, having set up a trophy, 
that most holy of the shrines of Zeus, raised a 
song of paean to the protecting god, dancing in 
harmony with the rhythm and beating the ground 
with their feet." 

French poetry. Then the stranger shuffled out of 
the shop. 

"Who is that gentleman?" asked Gladstone. 
"He has an extraordinary knowledge of French 

" Monsieur, he himself is our greatest poet. C'est 
Paul Verlaine!" 

The writer adds that Verlaine never knew 
that he had been talking to Gladstone. 

Gladstone and Verlaine. 

Gladstone was fond of exploring the second- 
hand bookshops of the Quartier Latin and a 
writer in To-day narrates an odd meeting: 

As Gladstone entered a bookshop near the 
Od^on, he found the bookseller engaged in con- 
versation with an extraordinary individual, who 
held in his hands an old edition of Villon's poems. 
His dress was ragged and dirty, his face was matted 
with hair, and he had the eyes of an archangel, 
with the mouth and jaw of a baboon. Neverthe- 
less, the respectful attitude of the bookseller 
showed that the man was a personality. Glad- 
stone entered into conversation with him about 
Villon, and for an hour they talked about early 

Gauticr the Impeccable. 

By EdgeLf Sckltus. 

Who says translator says traducer. The 
adage is Italian, tolerably old and perfectly 
true. It particularly applies to some works of 
Gautier which, put into English, have been 
recently published. We are unable to com- 
mend them. When Gautier slept he had a 
dictionary for a pillow. He coquetted with 
words. He chose them sometimes for their 
texture, more often for their color. They were 
to him so many butterflies which he chased in 
his inkstand and which, when he had captured, 
he impaled in his copy, not haphazard but in 
accordance with his theory of style. 

That style gained for him the title Impecca- 
ble. For, although he liked color and plenty 
of it, he also liked clarity. "There are," he 
said, "a thousand ways of saying the same 
thing. There is but one that is exact. The 
artist always finds it." 

It was his pursuit and conquest of the exact 
term that gained for him his title. That title 
is appreciable in his own tongue. To borrow 
an idiom from it, the reason of the title jumps 
at your eyes. It resides in his finish. But on 
condition that you approach him in French. 
In English all that went to justify the title 
is lost in transit. The substance remains, but 
not the savor. You may have the flower, but 
not the perfume. For the flower is pressed. 
Sometimes not by a traducer merely, but by a 
blockhead. Sometimes by both. Yet, how- 
ever effected, the result is the same. You are 
not getting the real thing. To obtain that you 
must go at it the right way. The right way 
is reverently, your hat ofY, your head bowed, 
in French. Then you will have something fit. 
Then, when current stupidities are ofifered, you 
can say, "Thank you, I have dined." 

These remarks, poor indeed and not, we 
hope, original, are not meant to imply that the 
French language is superior to our own. On 
the contrary. Of the two English is the richer. 
These remarks are meant to imply that if you 
want to know a man it is up to you not to mis- 
take his stenographer for him. — A^. Y. American. 



By Minni* D. Kellogg. 

Suggestion is the soul of art; expression is god. iVnd against all the fishy romances of 
a mere embodiment. There are certain beati- horse-flesh, give me a death-dealing automobile 
tudes — love, beauty, valor and justice — of which for the heroine to elope in, confiding her fate 
no life has its fill, for which we ought to crave ; to the excited chaffeur of her choice, 
and if romance can add the shadow of the good To me the love affairs of the past are one of 
and the beautiful, vive romance. But in order the saddest issues of its universal tyranny, 
to cast a shadow even fiction must have some a tyranny of parent over child, of man over 
substance. Allegory has a reality akin to that woman, of lord over serf, of king over lord, 
of sculpture. As far as it goes, it is more unim- of emperor over king, and pope over emperor ; 
peachable than descriptive art. I have no ob- a tyranny of crazy conventions and mistaken 
jection to wonder tales of "no man's land" ideals over all, with mortifications of spirit a 
"in the days of long ago"; to heroes in golden thousand times harsher than of the flesh. No 
armor whose good lances work miracles for wonder the idealists retired to the cloisters, 
love. But when the story-teller insists that I and no wonder, as life went on, they abrogated 
take cognizance of periods and places and their vows, one way or another, for ideas are 
manners and customs and believe in his char- unstable compounds, and waves of thought are 
acters, I want enough accuracy from him to as elastic as waves of sound, 
make my part easy. And the favorite story of this sadly sub- 
Fiction has always been in the habit of going missive age was "The Patient Griselda." It 
to the past for themes, and, where realism is was an old, old tale when Boccacio told it, and 
intended, always to its disadvantage. it is dead now. We may recall the story but 
Just at present the modistes of the literary we cannot reanimate the heroine. A marquis 
world are busy with confections, in which whose only love is the chase is forced by his 
amusement is decorated with instruction, called subjects to marry. He compromises on a little 
historical novels. I secretly believe in a royal country girl and requires her to promise "to 
road to learning, traveled by Shakespeares, study to please him and not be uneasy at any- 
Chaucers and such goodly company, but I thing whatever he may do or say." (A man's 
don't believe in a fashionable route. History requirements, in a nutshell, only the marquis 
at a glance is as likely as " French at a Glance." wasn't a gentleman.) To amuse himself, ap- 
In vain scholars explain that the only historical parently, he proceeds to test her patience. He 
novels are contemporary stories of other days takes her children from her, one by one, leading 
where there is more fun to be read between her to suppose them destroyed, as his people 
the lines than in whole libraries of the latest object to the descendants of a peasant mother . 
historical fiction guaranteed amusing by man- She blesses her babe as she delivers it to his 
ufacturer and publisher. serviteur, saying, "Take it; do what my lord 
A fashionable story must have up-to-date and thine has commanded; but prithee, leave 
characters ; hence, Alexander the Great figured it not to be devoured by fowls or wild beasts 
through mediaeval tales, voicing the wisdom unless that be his will." Then the marquis 
of the Dark Ages, to similarly enlightened tells her he must annul their marriage. She 
readers (who, by the way, could not read, but replies, "For what I have been I hold myself 
had these accounts from wandering story- indebted to Providence and you. I consider it 
tellers). And George Washington is pictured a favor lent me," and acquiescingly returns to 
as a knight of the carpet of the latest cut, in an the house of her father, who has prudently 
avalanche of recent colonial novels. saved her old garments, never supposing the 
The days of chivalry, when knights were so marquis would "keep her long as wife." In 
much better equipped than other people and good time the marquis summons her to pre- 
castles reasonably secure against arrows, were pare his home for a new wife. She affection- 
very good times for Mars, that god of the ately complies; the new wife proves to be 
strongest battalion ; but Cupid's opportunities herself, the marquis being quite persuaded that 
are here and now: excellent mail service; her patience " proceeds from no want of under- 
all the women taught to read and write; tele- standing in her." The children are restored 
phones everywhere, and everybody attempting to her. She weeps for joy, and they all live 
to exercise a little free will, working confusion happily ever after, 
and contretemps so congenial to the little blind It does not seem a particularly good story 



to us, but it charmed Petrarch and Chaucer, but everyone feels the naturalness of the char- 
Simple old tales, as well as great myths, may acters and sees the general accuracy of the 
whisper new messages to new creeds. Have picture. Now, how much independence had 
we any broader ideal than that loving patience "My Cid?" He had more than any man in 
that proceeds from no want of understanding? Spain, except the King. After the crowning 
But we have more hopeful ones — more ro- achievement of his career, the conquest of 
mantic. Valencia, the Cid remarked: 

There is a beautiful story 600 years old that "And since God hath thought it good that I 

for the last 300 years has been known as" Romeo should be lord thereof, I will have it for myself 

and Juliet." When you analyze it, it is all and those who have holpen me to win it, saving 

love and affection ; and yet what a bloody the sovereignty of King Don Alfonso of Castile, 

tragedy is there! The partisans of Montague my lord. ... Ye are all in my power, to do 

and Capulet love their lords; the nurse loves with ye what I will, both with your persons, 

her charge ; the Friar loves all mankind and your riches, your wives and your children ; but 

would reconcile the warring houses of Mon- I will not do thus." 

tague and Capulet and unite the lovers. The "Thus" has no grammatical antecedent, but 

parents adore their children and Romeo and the Cid always made himself understood. In 

Juliet stand for love itself. But no writer who war he was a cruel Spaniard, but he had a dim 

ever handled the theme conceives of these instinct of justice in his calmer moments, which 

children expecting the slightest indulgence, was a great boon to the Moors, whom he was 

Personal considerations entered so little into continually conquering; and through all and 

the life of that cast-iron age — and when they above all, he was generous. Indeed, most 

did they were generally arranged by sword or heroes are. After he established himself in 

poison cup. For Romeo to request the hand Valencia, the Cid sent for his wife and daugh- 

of Juliet would have been entirely out of keep- ters; "and he (the Cid) raised them up 

ing with the spirit of the time and the dim and embraced them and kissed them many 

actual story supposed to lie beneath the fiction, times, weeping for joy that he saw them alive. 

The father of Juliet does say, "Woo her, gentle Hear what he said, who in a happy hour was 

Paris. My will to her consent is but a part;" bom! 'You, dear and honored wife, ye my 

but when Juliet objects to Paris, Capulet re- daughters, my heart and soul, enter with me 

marks to her: into Valencia. . . . This is the inheritance 

"An you be mine and I'll give you to my friend, which I have won for you.' " Mrs. Cid (Dona 

And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the street." Ximena) brought good relics and other sacred 

Then there is that old story of a beautiful things to ennoble the new church at Valencia, 
woman mated to a hunchback, told by Dante and "who can tell the rejoicings that were 
in twenty-five short lines, which have rung in made that day, throwing at the board and 
the ears of the world ever since. Of course, killing bulls?" The daughters of the Cid be- 
an arranged marriage is one of the accepted come "catchers," so the Infantes of Carrion 
conditions of royalty; but there is quite a list requested their hands from the King. When 
of titled and even royal personages now living the Cid discovers that his daughters are to be 
who have been romantic enough to renounce demanded from him, after a silence he says: 
very considerable prospects for love matches " I was banished from my own country and 
and have gone their way without any extraor- was dishonored and with hard labor gained I 
dinary inconvenience. Nowadays even the old what I have got ; and now I stand in the King's 
maid may be a free lance. If she can take care favor and he asketh of me my daughters for 
of herself and pay her way (conditions that do the Infantes of Carrion. They are of high 
not phase persons of a certain temperament) blood and full orgullous, and I have no liking 
nothing is said about cloisters. She has much for the match ; but if our lord the King ad- 
more control of her sentiments and possessions viseth it we can do no otherwise ; we will talk 
than had the dauntless Cid Campeador. I cite of this and God send it for the best." Ximena 
the Cid because, like Dr. Johnson, he is a man likes the match no better. However, the Cid 
of the past, whom, through a series of happy puts on a brave face and celebrates the marriage 
accidents, of biography, we may know if we by giving presents to everybody. So doubtful 
will. The Cid had no Boswell, but we may is he of his sons-in-law that when his daughters 
make his acquaintance through an ideal his- leave him he sends his own guard, headed by his 
torical novel published under the nom de plume nephew, to protect these child-wives from their 
of "Chronicles of the Cid." No mortal has husbands, and it was most fortunate that he 
ever presumed to separate the fact and fiction, did so. 


This part of the "Chronicles" hardly seems a living. Read of the scholar, the clerk of 
romance. Abuse and divorce of the hero's Oxenford, in the "Canterbury Tales," a crea- 
daughters is hardly imaginative treatment, es- tion of the mind, 'tis true, but of "a mind so 
pecially from Catholic chroniclers. But those powerfully bright as to cast a shade of false- 
were barbarous days, of course. We will balance hood on records that are called reality." 
them with the particularly polite period of the The thin, threadbare clerk of Oxenford, on 
dear old regime when chivalrous France was a horse "as lean as a rake," who so "longs for 
prostrated before the high-heeled slippers of logic," is a sorry outward figure compared to 
that puppet of etiquette euphoniously termed the knight. But the knight is simply a true 
"le grande monarch," alias Louis XIV. We gentleman of the "romantic twentieth cen- 
will relate a very creditable little anecdote, tury" ("once a gentleman, always a gentle- 
unique in that it reflects honor at once upon man"), while the lowly, aspiring, supersti- 
the King and a lady. tious, begging scholar is part of the pathos 

The Duke of Mantua, having betrayed his of the past. Chaucer, however, has conferred 
subjects and sold his kingdom to Louis XIV., upon him the Legion of Honor, 
was consequently the guest of honor of that There is a unique French classic ("LesContcs 
monarch. This old rou6 of Mantua, having Drolatiques") that actually fulfills these claims, 
seen a miniature of the Duchesse of Les- But book notices are an understood thing all 
diguieres, worn affectionately by her late hus- around, like the claque in the Parisian theatres, 
band, requested the hand and heart of the Who wants literal pictures of a coarse age? 
pretty young widow from Louis XIV. The Poetry may breathe the " tender grace of a day 
King was ready to grant him so small a favor, that is dead," and the drama may revive 
but the lady tearfully protested and adduced supreme moments, but the realistic novel con- 
very sound reasons. The affair became an ceming itself with things seen is at an artistic 
affair of State, and a council was called to disadvantage in describing a rude age. 
arrange it ; but, to the surprise and incon- The point of view of another time is a pretty 
venience of the council, the King, who had con- good subject for humorists ; only when they 
descended to coax his fair subject, refused to turn to historical fiction they do not get 
coerce her (the Duke of Mantua had already credit for half the truth they tell ; in fact, as a 
sold out) ; and privately, to his own daughters, class, writers of historical romance singularly 
who triumphantly published the compliment, lack humor. Really, life was never more pic- 
the King commended a lady who had dared to turesque and interesting than it is now. Of 
refuse a roue, a duchy, and a royal request, course, Athens was very charming during the 
How the Duke of Mantua incarcerated and age of Pericles, but the life there would lack 
abused the young daughter of France who was variety to us, and possibly comfort. Per- 
passed over to him in lieu of Mme. de Les- sonally, I should dislike to exchange the dentists 
diguieres, is another story, but both are told of America for the philosophers of Greece, 
in the memoirs of the matter-of-fact Duke de Greek sculpture and modem music would be 
Saint Simon. Mme. de Lesdiguieres certainly a fairer comparison. It must have been a 
had a very close call and some very exciting splendid thing to witness that miracle of old, 
hours, but there was nothing romantic or pic- the Greek drama, arise in full beauty, in 
turesque in it all. The French Revolution was ^schylus, who was followed by two poets that 
poetry and sanity compared to the " Ancienne only differed from him in glory. But the 
regime." A nightmare of freedom is certainly Greek nation was drearily encamped among 
better than a nightmare of tyranny, "barbarians," whose speech and thought they 

It wasn't only lovers that suffered. Scholars scorned. We have neighbors that we love as 

had an unreasonably miserable time. Such ourselves (that is, while we read their Goethes 

as were deemed "cranks" were eliminated or Molieres). Our great peripatetic teacher is 

more or less cruelly, while those that managed the railroad. That grotesque master of dis- 

to get along more smoothly with the human tance projects a republic quite different from 

race were permitted to wander about the Plato's; more real and just as ideal, 
country to beg money to support their studies. Ancient Greece is a haven for the imagina- 

And it is to the glory of the profession that tion, eternally fair. But Imagination is hap- 

they accepted these conditions. Never was piest in flight, and its flights are into the future, 

mother-wit at a greater premium than in the It alights in the twentieth century, breathless 

Middle Ages. The insincere, clever people who with messages of wonder to be, to start afresh 

feathered their nests in the church show how for its garden of hope, 
easily a half-way sensible person might make Berkeley, Cal. 




By CKa.rI«« Johnston. 

A volume might be written on reigning 
sovereigns who have gained fame as writers. 
In our own day, we have only had, it is true, 
the somewhat mild contributions of Carmen 
Sylva and Queen Victoria, and the scientific 
papers of Dom Pedro of Brazil and King 
Oscar of Sweden. 

But there have been groups of kings or 
emperors who have done more considerable 
things. Thus, the Stuarts from the days when 
James I. of Scotland was a prisoner-poet, till 
the last exile of that most picturesque race, 
were more devoted to pen than sword. The 
sixth Scottish James, first of that name in 
England, valued himself more as an author 
than as a sovereign ; theology and the wicked- 
ness of smoking were his best topics. His ill- 
starred son was not, it seems, the real author 
of that Icon Basilike, which Milton so un- 
sparingly attacked, yet only to a literary race 
could such a work be attributed. James II., 
in the days after his Irish campaign and 
ignominious flight, busied himself with writ- 
ing memoirs, which have even more literary 
charm of a pensive sort, than value as history, 
though they are undoubtedly authentic rec- 
ords of his battles and intrigues. 

The Caesars were also great writers. Two 
of them, Julius and Marcus Aurelius, have 
taken their places amongst the very greatest 
masters of words in the history of the world. 

A third, Flavius Julianus, whom posterity 
best knows as "The Apostate," has left us 
letters and memoirs full of vivacity and power. 
His epistles to Constantius, to his brother 
Gallus, his own original writings, show us a 
personality as remarkable in the world of 
thought as his campaigns make him in the 
world of action. 

Yet another marvelous group of writers, 
very little known to our modem world, are the 
great Moslem conquerors and rulers; Timur 
the Tartar, whom Marlowe has painted for 
us as Tamerlane — a corruption of Timur Lenk, 
"the Lame" — Baber, and Akbar's successor, 
Jehangir, were all great writers, and their 
works are of the highest value as literary 
monuments and human documents. 

The memoirs of Timur, who was at the 
summit of his power when Chaucer was writing 
the "Canterbury Tales," are full of vivid pic- 
tures; with absolutely unconscious simplicity 
he narrates his own acts of perfidy and rapine, 
all the time sincerely believing himself a great 

and good man, a true well-wisher of his race. 
Cant and piety, the ferocious devotion of a 
Mahomedan fanatic, courage and skill in the 
handling of men, perfect self-reliance and 
worldly wisdom go to make his self-painted 
portrait. In political acumen, Timur was the 
equal of Richelieu or Mazarin, while in military 
skill he was hardly less than Alexander or 
Julius Caesar. The "Malfuzat Timuri" de- 
serves a place beside the famous "Commen- 
taries" on the Gallic and Civil Wars. 

Not less remarkable as an author was Baber 
"the Lion," third in descent from Timur; he 
succeeded to the throne two years after Co- 
lumbus discovered the New World, and grew 
in greatness for six and thirty years. Among 
the great men of Europe, Michael Angelo is 
most nearly his contemporary. Baber, like 
Timur, wrote memoirs of his conquests; but 
the contrast between the two is as striking as 
that between Julius Caesar and Marcus Aure- 
lius. Baber is a very delightful and fas- 
cinating personality, as picturesque and ob- 
servant in his writing as Turgenieff, human 
as Shakespeare, witty, wise, playful, serene, 
an admirable narrator, a most valorous general, 
a wise statesman. His book is, perhaps, the 
best single work on medieval Asia, and he 
ranks high as a Persian poet, not less than as 
a Turkish historian. 

Akbar the Magnificent, Baber's grandson, 
was rather, like Augustus, the cause of writing 
in others, than a writer himself; but his son 
and successor Selim, known to history as 
Jehangir, "the Conqueror of the World," was 
the author of a volume of memoirs as inter- 
esting in their way as those of Timur or Baber, 
though of less intrinsic weight and force. It 
is amusing to find him, like his contemporary 
James I. of England, issuing a counterblast 
against tobacco, and professing himself an 
authority on demonology. 

It cannot be gainsaid that the memoirs of 
these three Moslem emperors, Timur, Baber, 
and Jehangir, are among the best books 
written in Asia in the last thousand years; 
and it would be hard to find three historical 
works in the same epoch of European history, 
of equal interest and value, both as annals and 
as human documents. 

It is, therefore, no small praise to say that 
Abdur Rahman Khan, the late Amir of Af- 
ghanistan, is fairly entitled to rank with these 
three great men and great monarchs as a 


writer, and that his memoirs are of as high my face on the gates to give hght to my eyes 
value, interest and force as any of the three, from the Hght of his tomb and comfort to my 
In historic interest, it is true, Abdur Rahman heart from the help of his soul, and con- 
Khan must be assigned to a lower place, but tinned my way to Taktupul. On my arrival, 
from no fault of his own ; the reason is simply I kissed the hands of my parents, who gave 
that he has written of a period thoroughly much charity to the poor in token of their 
familiar to us from the works of European pleasure at seeing mc, all my relations doing 
writers, the English historians of the modern the same according to their means. The next 
Indian empire, on the one side, and the Rus- day I inspected the magazines, workshops 
sian annalists of the Central Asian wars of the and stores, and finding them in good order, 
last three Tsars, on the other. But this I added to the salaries of their superintend- 
position has its compensations. For what ents." Here is the double clue to the char- 
Abdur Rahman loses in historic interest — acter of this remarkable man; he is at once 
from our familiarity with his epoch — he gains a convinced Mahomedan and a thorough 
in interest as a statesman, for a whole gen- modem administrator. 

eration holding his own in his wild mountain When he was still a beardless youth, he was 

country, between the huge aggressive empires entrusted with the government of one of the 

of the Lion and the Bear. northeastern districts of his country, along the 

Abdur Rahman Khan, like the three great upper waters of the Oxus, close to the Pamir 

Mussulman authors we have mentioned, and plateau. Of this time, he tells a story which 

indeed like all Mussulmans, has a very keen takes us in imagination straight back to that 

eye for facts, a genuine historic sense. In other illustrious Moslem monarch, Haroun al 

this, he and they stand in complete contrast Raschid: "About this time," he writes, "a 

with the Oriental spirit, as generally con- certain class of Badakshan cloth merchants 

ceived, with its vagueness, its romantic ex- gave me a good deal of trouble. It was 

aggeration, its misty coloring. He is never customary for merchants, trading between 

vague, never misty, but always clear-cut, full Badakshan and Kataghan, to ride on horse- 

of daylight, thoroughly objective in genius, back between these places on certain days of 

Like the three royal authors with whom we the week, and it was found that on these 

have compared him, Timur, Baber, and Jehan- special days, for a long time past, groups of 

gir, he reveals himself in every line ; like dead bodies were being continually discovered, 

them, he is a living embodiment of the Ma- To put an end to these murders, I appointed 

homedan genius ; the love of war, the fierce a few soldiers to watch the road without them- 

devoutness of the crusader, the acute worldly selves appearing, and I also ordered some 

wisdom, the mixture of ferocity and tender- sowars dressed as civilians to travel to and 

ness, of aspiration and superstition, and, fro, with instructions that if they were at- 

with all these, has the strong hand of the tacked they were to signal to the soldiers, 

practical ruler and man of affairs. It turned out as I desired, and one day the 

Abdur Rahman never spares himself. Very Badakshan merchants attacked the sowars, 

humorously, he tells how his father spoke of who immediately sent a man on a fast horse 

him as "my lunatic son," and unflinchingly to give warning to the hidden soldiers. These 

depicts his vicissitudes, at one time a prince, galloped to the spot, and took some fifty 

at another a prisoner; now a cook, and now merchants prisoners, who were brought before 

a viceroy ; now a general, and now a fugitive ; me. I distributed their arms, saddles and 

by turns blacksmith, ruler, gardener, diplomat bridles among the sowars, gave their horses 

and peasant. His life story has real value as to the artillery, and ten thousand rupees, of 

a model of courage and will, the indomitable which they were possessed, I confiscated to the 

energy and valor of a self-made king. government treasury. On questioning these 

He was a soldier from boyhood, and, like men, they owned that they had acted as 

Napoleon, he laid the utmost stress on perfect highwaymen for the past two years, owing 

commissariat arrangements and well selected to the contempt in which they held the 

materiel, trusting his own eyes only. In one Afghans; and although they offered two thou- 

of the stories he tells of himself, he comes out sand rupees per head to purchase their lives, 

in his double character of a religious enthu- I ordered them all to be blown from the guns, 

siast and a keen overseer of war stores; here as they had committed many crimes on my 

are his own words: "On my way I halted at unoffending people. This punishment was 

Tashkurghan, and from there visited the carried out on market day, that their flesh 

blessed tomb of the King of Saints. I rubbed should be eaten by the dogs of the camp, and 




their bones remain lying about till the festival size, and very straight, with almond eyes, 

was over." and delicate eyebrows, a long beard, and an 

The sequel of this story is hardly less bar- oval-shaped face, also small, long fingers. He 

baric. The Mir of Badakshan, hearing of the wore a brown turban and a striped cloth 

attack on his worthy merchants, sent an around his loins, and carried a long staff, at 

emissary to remonstrate in terms character- the end of which was a piece of iron. He ap- 

ized by Abdur Rahman as "rude" and finally peared to be standing at my head and saying 

burst out: "Hand over the prisoners. How very quietly: 'Abdur Rahman, rise and write.' 

dare you imprison our people?" Abdur Rah- I awoke with a start, and seeing no one, I 

man's reply was, to say the least, practical, slept again, and again the same figure ap- 

He continues thus: "Without further con- peared to me, saying: 'I say write, and in- 

versation, I ordered my servants to pull out stead you sleep.' I hesitated, and awoke a 

his beard and moustache, and to dye his eye- second time, and seeing no one, I again fell 

brows like a woman's. I then took him to asleep. For the third time, the holy man 

the place where the remains of the merchants appeared, saying with evident annoyance : * If 

lay, and put his beard and moustache in a you sleep again, I shall pierce your chest with 

gold cloth, advising him to take them to his my staff.' At this I was frightened and 

Mir, both as a caution, and as a reply to the awoke, but not to sleep again. I called to 

letter he had written me." my pages to bring pen and paper to me, and 

Our most hearty sympathy is with the un- began thinking of the letters I used to write at 

happy and much-plucked messenger, when school, the unseen power of God representing 

the annalist records that, returning to his Mir, the letters before my mind one after another, 

he showed his raw cheeks and chin, and burst My memory helped me to recollect what I had 

forth with indignant pathos: "This is what read, and I scribbled on the paper one word 

I have siiffered by carrying your idiotic mes- and then another. In this way I finished a 

sages!" letter before sunrise, of about sixty or seventy 

In justice to this passionate youth, this lines. Some of the letters were not joined 
fire-eater and plucker-out of beards, before his and others hardly formed. I found I could 
own was grown, we must record another read it all, and I also noticed the mistakes, 
episode of quite different tenor: "I must re- of which there were many. I tore this up, and 
peat a wonderful experience or inspiration re-wrote it, being so happy and glad I could 
which came to me at this time," he says, hardly contain myself. On rising that mom- 
"and about which it gives me much pleasure ing I opened one or two letters addressed to 
to write. One day, when I was holding my me from the governors, and finding that I 
court, I received a letter from Amir Azim's could understand the subject of the letters, 
daughter who lived at Kabul and was be- my pleasure was multiplied ten times." 
trothed to me. She had instructed her mes- Immediately after this idyllic narrative, we 
senger to deliver the letter into my hands have a battle with a tribe of marauders, where, 
only, and that it was not to be shown to any- the enemy lost five hundred killed. Abdur 
one, and the reply was to be written and Rahman exacted a fine of five thousand pieces 
sealed by me. As I have before mentioned, of gold from the tribe, and sold the prisoners 
I was never fond of reading and writing, and as slaves for five thousand more; "thus 
I had forgotten what little I had ever learned, making ten thousand gold pieces out of the 
Imagine my disappointment on receiving this transaction," as he adds, sententiously. 
letter. I felt my heart beating, and I blamed Truly, a most convincing portrait of a very 
myself very much that, while I boasted of forceful and original young man, at one time 
being such a fine man, I was really most un- blowing the forty thieves from his guns, and 
manly, being so ignorant. On retiring that at another rubbing his face against a saint's 
night, I wept bitterly, and prayed to my God tomb, to lighten his eyes and gladden his 
with all humility, beseeching the souls of the heart; now killing hundreds and selling cap- 
saints to intercede for me. I repeated this fives into slavery, now crying himself to 
prayer: 'O God, send a light heart into me, sleep, because he could not read his sweet- 
and enlighten my mind, so that I may read heart's letter. It is pleasant to think we have 
and write. Thou shalt not make me ashamed had such a man among our contemporaries, 
in the eyes of thy creation.' At last, being The position of Afghanistan, as the buffer 
overcome with weeping, toward morning I state between the English lion and the Russian 
fell asleep. I dreamed that the figure of a bear — the two greatest empires, in all likeli- 
holy man appeared to me. He was of middle hood, that the world has ever seen — is of such 



vital importance in the world's history, and 
Abdur Rahman's part in the incessant political 
play between the rivals for Asian supremacy 
has been so remarkable, that a proper con- 
sideration of it demands a separate study. 

We may lead up to this by quoting a single 
incident, where the errant spirit of the 
" Wander jahre " blends with the keen insight, 
readiness of resource and determination which 
are everywhere present through the " Lehr- 
jahre," to give a convenient name to the second 
part of Abdur Rahman's story, wherein he 
deals with political principles, coins apo- 
thegms, and weaves parables of the life of 
nations with truly Oriental skill. 

The said incident fills up part of the entr'acte 
of the great Afghan's life, when his family had 
been overtaken with misfortune, and the 
barbaric young prince and impulsive lover 
whose portrait has just been painted, had 
made way for the homeless exile and wanderer, 
who was presently to reappear as a powerful 
and despotic monarch. 

Abdur Rahman tells how, on the eleventh 
day of his flight, as a fugitive among the 
tremendous fastnesses of the Afghan hills, 
" we arrived in the afternoon at a village in the 
Kakar country, where my followers laid in 
provisions for themselves, and I was looking 
about for a young, fat sheep for myself. Find- 
ing one, I paid twenty rupees Kabuli for it, the 
price agreed upon to the owner. When we 
were about to kill it, the owner said he had 
changed his mind, and wanted it back, but 
when I said he could have it, he changed his 
mind again, so it was killed for me; at which, 
he threw my money at me, demanding that I 
should make his sheep alive. I replied I had 
not sufficient power to do this, but he could 
have the dead body of his sheep, as well as 
the money. He refused again, insisting on 
my performing the miracle. At this, I was 
obliged to resort to a trick, and, turning to a 
priest who was standing near, I told him the 
man had been cursing him all the time. At 
this, the priest turned his face to the owner 
of the sheep, to whom I said: 'Curse me, if 
you like, but do not insult the wife of this holy 
man, who is a prophet.' The priest was 
naturally furious, and called the man a pig 
for insulting his wife, and the sheep owner 
cursed him in return. At this, they began to 
fight, and I took both sheep and rupees away, 
leaving them to settle their little difference. 
Half of the inhabitants were on the side of the 
priest, and half on the side of the sheep owner, 
and after a good fight, the people interceded." 

One can begin to understand how the man 

who conceived this brilliant strategy, and 
who, as he innocently tells us, thereby got 
"both sheep and rupees," was well fitted in 
later years to match the opposing Afghan 
factions against each other, and, a far greater 
task, to strike a balance between the ambitions 
of the Lion and the Bear, and this time also 
got not only the sheep, the throne of Afghan- 
istan, but also the rupees, in the form of 
liberal contributions from the British Indian 
Treasury. — The Era. 

Rime du Bibliophile. 

By FraLnkfort Sommerville. 


Full many a gentle friend have I, 

Bon camarades of shine and storm. 
Who, housed with me, are ever nigh 

To keep my heart and fireside warm. 
My shelves my glories hold, and here 

My joys, my griefs lie — and my gold ; 
And though's years roll, new friends appear, 

I never yet have lost the old. 


Choice spirits daily with me dine; 

I sup with Chaucer or Voltaire, 
And then for olives and for wine, 

I taste my Walton — my Moliere! 
With kind Leigh Hunt my tea I sip 

Or Ser Giovanni, and my whiff 
Virginian while in Donne I dip. 

In Burton — or the N arrenschiff . 


Ne'er yawn, my friends, nor weary grow, 

Though half the night I sit awake 
With Plato great or wild Marot 

(And then go dream like William Blake!) 
'Twere hard to tell what days I've had 

Of riotous pleasure with a lot 
No whit sooth less than Hamlet mad — 

From Swedenborg to Don Quichotte! 


Of wives I have a gross or more 

And flames — no monogamist I — 
Princess Sheherazade or 

The "Virgins Ten" or Widow Di, 
Queen Margaret — all in turn I love — 

Miss Eveline, or Psyche, say. 
While yearns my souls to Seraphs above — 

My Laura! my Beatrice! 

V . 

I'll not rail against the world, 

Or loosely talk of wives and "friends" — ■ 
Such whim-whams are too cheaply hurled 
By some to gain their private ends! 

1 reck not — only this I swear — 

So long as I've some quaint old song, 
Black-letter cramped, or folio rare — 
I'll rarely join the giddy throng! 




The humors, conscious and unconscious, of 
an examination are most enjoyed by those who 
correct the hundreds of papers which result. 
One such examiner in an Eastern State has 
preserved in a note-book the amusing blunders 
made by children ranging in age from twelve 
to sixteen years. All of these were seriously 
set down in the course of examinations in 
English literature. They tended to relieve the 
monotony of correcting, day after day, papers 
on the same set of questions. 

The bits of wisdom that follow were from 
many sources. It is hard to believe some of 
them unintentional. "Shylock didn't want 
Lorenzo to marry Jessica because he wasn't 
a Catholic." Emerson "died as innocent as 
a new-bom child. His principle attributes to 
our literature are a great many essays which 
might be read backwards or in any other 
manner and you could not find the least refer- 
ence to the subject." "In Emerson's style 
we find a chrystal transparency and exquisite 
sense of beauty, which render his work dan- 

This in answer to a question about an English 
dynasty: "The Plantagenets were a sort of 
play in which different muses were represented." 
A comment upon Anne Bradstreet's "The 
tenth muse lately sprung up in America" was, 
"Anne Bradstreet wrote about the 'Tenth 

It is difficult to believe this unconscious: 
"Thoreau was of very moderate circumstance, 
but his mind was still more so." This boy 
had been reading some grandiloquent writer: 
" Longfellow was not a Milton, nor a Shake- 
speare; nor was he grand like Bryant; or 
melancholy like Poe ; he new every stop in the 
great organ and touched all its keys at once. 
His kind sympathies have dried the tears of 

In these scientific days Franklin's "Auto- 
biography" is often given as " Autobiograph." 
Burns's poem is thus summarized, " Mr. Cotter 
comes home on Saturday night." Chaucer's 
priest "received his check on the ist of every 

"Whittier's style is clear and simple. He 
wrote short feet, using few meters to the foot." 
One boy had read somewhere that a volume of 
Burns's poems fell into Whittier's hands when 
a lad and gave him an irresistible impulse 
towards verse making. The pupil's deduction 
from this authentic incident was, " Burns and 
Whittier became great chums in later life." 

The esoteric meaning of Sir Launfal's Vision 

to one student was : ' ' Do not spend your life 
in a business having no particular redeeming 
feature, in other words, do not go in search of 
the north pole which has never been found and 
may never be." For the line, "We Sinais 
climb and know it not," the child wrote, "We 
sin as climb and know it not." 

An attempt at quotation from "Gray's 

" Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
Full many a pearl is hid beneath the sea, 

And many a man of noble mind has been 

Who had no chance to show what he could be." 

A one-line sketch of Kipling's novel: " Light 
that failed — a blind man who went to war and 
was killed." 

" Irving wrote several books on scenes about 
Tamney Hall." 

" Shakespeare made his reputation and money 
in the Globe Theatre, New York City." 

"Burn's greatest work — The Psalms." 

" My favorite character in literature is Evan- 
geline, by Shakespeare." 

"My favorite character in literature is Sir 
Longfellow, — his Psalm of Life and Vision of 
Sir Longfellow the best." 

An explanation of the title "Autocrat of the 
Breakfast Table": "Auto (about one's self), 
crat (a talk or conversation), signifies a talk 
about one's self. Hence the entire title means 
a talk with one's self at the breakfast table." 

"Lincoln's name will be handed down from 
ancestor to ancestor." 

The idea of death is thus concisely expressed : 
"We see him depart from the home of the 
mortal beings." 

Another bit of terse English: "Rain was 
pouring its contents out upon earth." 

" Benjamin Franklin was bom in the begin- 
ning of the latter part of the i8th Century." 

A young cynic writes, "Whittier is the only 
American author who had the rare fortune to 
remain unsophisticated — and unmarried." 

A girl pupil wrote candidly, "My favorite 
book is the large cook book at home, and my 
favorite character is Charlotte Russe in that 

A boy who had read Lowell's "Commemora- 
tion Ode" retained certain figures of speech 
and wrote: "When Lincoln was chosen Presi- 
dent it was like changing earth on a plant. By 
bringing new earth from the West to fill the 
chair of the president in which the plant of the 
U. S. government grows." Shades of Elm- 
wood! what will this boy come to? 

— LippincoU's Magazine, 



By R.obert H. SKertt.rd. 

The irony of Fate was to pursue Oscar very pilgrimage, I could not but recall a jest 

Wilde to the very end. The man, whose he once made to me — that Passy, where I was 

genius, whose parts and performances so living, was a place so distant from the world 

fully entitled him to the highest of those poor that when cabmen drove one there they kept 

honors which humanity can give to its illus- getting down to ask for something on accoimt 

trious dead, is buried there where his ad- of the pourboire. One passes through Mont- 

mirers may almost look for him in vain. trouge and out by the Orleans Gate, and then 

He lies in Bagneux. across a vast suburb, le Grand Montrouge, 

He should be amongst poets ; he is sur- which at night must ring with the cries of folk 

rounded by the petty bourgeois of the Parisian in danger. We stopped at many florists on 

suburbs. the way, for my friends wanted to buy roses 

He would not read De Maupassant when he for the grave. "He has told us himself," said 

lived, for he took, he said, no interest in the one of them, "what flowers to put there — red 

people of whom De Maupassant chose to write, roses and white roses" — and he quoted some 

Fate has doomed him to their company for lines from "The Ballad of Reading Gaol." 

eternity. But there were no roses to be had anywhere. 

The fosse commune, where his dust would and at the last shop before the cemetery was 

have mingled with that of the wanton, the reached white lilac was bought and some 

pauper, the thief, with the dust of those to yellow flowers. I noticed that this shop was 

whom his large heart went out, victims like at the comer of the Rue Alphonse Daudet, and 

himself of the cruel order of social things, all that Daudet had said about him rushed 

would have been desired by him rather, could back upon my mind. 

he have ordained his obsequies, than the We searched for him for a long time, for 

present promiscuities. He lies in the centre though the site was known to our guide, the 

of a phalanx of people who, during their life- landlord of the hotel where he died, the geog- 

times, were surely distinguished for those very raphy of these places changes with startling 

qualities which refused to him, after he had rapidity. New landmarks are ever springing 

fallen, the slightest crumb of sympathy. From up, the old landmarks as rapidly disappear, 

its environment his resting place is the very How rapidly, and with what significance, we 

lieu maudit. shall presently hear. It was not until a chart 

His is the eleventh grave in the seventh row had been consulted at the office at the gate 

of the seventeenth section. The graveyard that we found him. He lies next to a woman 

is immense, and its ugliness is in proportion to whose name was Bienfait. The gravestone is 

its size. It presents not one of those features brown, and bears, besides his name and age, 

which one associates with the places where a verse from Job. He had laughed long in 

poets rest. There are no trees, and so there life, and it was to the Job of tears that one had 

will be no birds to sing his lullaby. The "lin, to turn to find his epitaph! 

Ian, lone of evening bells" will never ripple The grave had a neglected look; weeds 

over the deserted tomb. covered the valley where the mound had been 

Bagneux is so remote, and can only be engulphed. Yet a blue flower, weed itself, 
reached with so much difficulty, that here, had chosen this spot and none other where 
indeed, the dead die quick. The vast plain to live its little unfragrant life. One of the 
was all deserted, save where one busy widow. Englishmen dug it up and will plant it again 
with brushes and serviettes, was tidying her in England, and perhaps the little blue flower 
husband's grave. She was busy about it, will be sad and die for Heimweh. 
dusting here and sweeping there, faisant son Of the place, such as it is, his tenure has only 
petit menage, and was a very pleasant sight, two more years to run. The concession was 
But she was all alone, and her presence served for five years, and as he was buried in De- 
but to make the desolation of the place more cember, iqoo, this, according to the regula- 
evident. tions, is the fourth year of his peace. At the 

Bagneux is a very "ultimate dim Thule," end of next year they will remove his dust to 

and as I drove out there the other day with the fosse commune, unless his friends purchase 

two Englishmen, whose admiration for the for him the right to remain there for what by 

dead poet had brought them to Paris for this human presumption is called perpetuity. The 


elder of the Englishmen was for buying this "He used to work at nights, all night long, 
right at once, for, as he said to his friend, As a rule he would come in at one o'clock in 
" You don't want Oscar to be dug up, do you?" the morning and sit down to his table, and in 
Our guide inquired about the price, and was the morning he would show me what he had 
seen as though haggling with a man who written, and ' I have earned a hundred francs 
looked like a stonemason. His dernier prix, to-night,' he would say. And he seemed 
it appeared, was about £2 5 . These the Eng- pleased and proud to think that he had earned 
lishman was for producing immediately. I a hundred francs in one night." 
suggested, however, that perhaps the relatives At these words a rapid calculation passed 
might wish to perform this duty. For the through my head. It underlined the pathos 
rest, one may hope that a time will come when of his pride. His plays used to be written in 
England will awake to the sense of her in- a fortnight or three weeks. There was more 
justice and open welcoming arms. Then the earned there than twice ;i£ioo in any night, 
little blue flower will be made happy again "But," continued the landlord, "the man 
and others with it. who employed him was irregular about send- 
After we returned to the hotel — the Hotel ing him his money, and this used to vex Mon- 
d' Alsace, in the Rue des Beaux-Arts — we sieur Wilde very much, and he was always 
visited the room where he died, a small bed- very inquiet until the payment came and used 
room on the first floor, looking out on a damp to rail against his employer. Towards the 
courtyard. From his bed his eyes had for end it became very difficult for him to write, 
horizon a gray and dripping wall. The hang- and he used to whip himself up with cognac, 
ings of the bed, the window curtains, the up- A litre bottle would hardly see him through 
holstery of the furniture were of the color of the night. And he ate little. And he took 
the lees of wine. Behind a rickety table a little exercise. He used to sleep till noon, 
maculated couch squatted like a toad. All and then breakfast and then sleep again till 
was faded and threadbare. The impression five or six in the evening. But, il se soignait 
was that of poverty masquerading at comfort, hien lorsqu'il le pouvait. Ah, out! II se soi- 
Chatterton's garret in Brooke street must gnait au vin de Champagne et il lui fallait du 
have presented a sight less poignant. Nero Veuve Clicquot a huit ou dix francs la bouteille." 
could not have died amidst such surroundings. The landlord of this hotel will be remembered 
"There he lay," said the landlord, pointing hereafter. He was very good to the poor 
to the bed, "with ice on his head, and in his poet. At first he had been suspicious and in- 
delirium he swore at his pain. He kept deed had forced him to leave his house, the 
raising his hands to his head to try and ease bill being unpaid. He afterwards met him 
the torture. The doctors said that they in the street, and heard that he had been 
ought to cut into the head, but that there was forced to leave his new hotel also, because he 
no sign to guide them where to cut, and so no could not pay, and was literally without a 
operation could be tried. He must have shelter. Thereupon this kindly man bade 
suffered greatly, for he swore and swore. And him return to his old room in God's name, 
there he died — in my arms. It was at two and, more than this, went and fetched away 
o'clock in the afternoon." his things from the hotel where they were de- 
The man spoke in short, gasping sentences, tained and paid the bill. It was a bill for 
under evident emotion, and I recalled pointing ;^5. He has the receipt still and shows it 
out to Wilde that where a deep tragedy is to with some pride. When Wilde died he was 
be described the short sentence has always heavily in this man's debt, and the debt re- 
been used by artists. It depicts the breathless mains. Meanwhile, men are making money 
emotion of the writer. It is like the words of by trading on Wilde's name, exploiting his 
a messenger of evil tidings, who has run a long fatal notoriety. There has recently been pub- 
way to tell them and can find but gasping lished in Paris, as a translation by his pen, a 
utterance. So Goethe in the last lines of the version of a French novel, which in the original 
"Sorrows of Werther," and so Wilde also at its style alone saved from the charge of ob- 
the end of "Dorian Gray." scenity. The style of the English version is 
We heard that before he became ill of his that which distinguishes the publications of 
final illness — the meningitis which killed him, certain booksellers in the lenocinia of Amster- 
and which is only the scientific name for the dam or the purlieus of Leicester square. The 
"broken heart" — he had worked hard. What very grammar is faulty. It is an outrage on 
he wrote was given to others, who published the poet's memory that such a book should be 
it as their own work. issued under his name. It has the horror of 



sacrilege. And it is being done for money. 

My English friend asked the landlord if he 
had any little thing which had belonged to the 
poet which he would care to sell him as a 

"I have something interesting," said the 
landlord, leaving the room. He presently re- 
turned with a little packet in his hand. Un- 
folding this, he disclosed the poet's false 
teeth. As they were set in gold plates, they 
had not been buried with the rest. He had 
left so little property that had any value; 
his wardrobe was almost depleted. His false 
teeth and a score of masterpieces; that was 
all his legacy. This touch of the macabre and 
the sinister crowned the horror that held me. 

But there was the ink bottle that he had 
used, a trumpery little china thing, worth a 
few pence, perhaps. The Englishman was 
glad to pay a louis for it. 

Of many evil days that day will ever be 
remembered by me as the very worst. There 
are things which one should not know, there 
are things that one ought not to know. And 
the punishment that results from seeking out 
the knowledge of them, bitter as it is, is only 
too well deserved. This also is one of those 
faults which, as Goethe says, avenge them- 
selves on earth. 

Book Sales of Dr. Johnson's Father. 

Dr. Samuel Johnson's father seems to have 
been " a good fellow," and so, for the matter of 
that, was his illustrious son, spite of his dog- 
matical and other objectionable ways. A cor- 
respondent of The Analyst, vol. i., Oct. i, 1834, 
says that Michael Johnson, as is well enough 
known, in early life kept a bookstall in Lich- 
field, and attended on market days the neigh- 
boring towns. "There was, a few years ago, 
a copy of one of his original sale catalogues in 
the possession of Thomas Fermyhough, Esq., 
of Petersborough," from which the correspond- 
ent gives the title and the humble bibliopole's 
address to his customers, which may as well, 
I think, be transferred to these pages in order 
to rescue them from oblivion and give honest 
Michael Johnson's address, which is so full of 
bonhomie, a, chance of perpetuity. 

"A Catalogue of Choice Books 
in all Faculties, Divinity, History, Travels, Law, 
Physic, Mathematicks, Philosophy, Poetry, &c., 
together with Bibles, Common Prayers, Shop- 
books, Pocket-books, &c.; also fine French 
Prints for Staircases and large Chimney-pieces, 
Maps, large and small. To be sold by Auction, 

or he who bids m(jst, at the Talbot in Sidbury, 
Worcester, the sale to begin on Friday, the 
twenty-first this instant March, exactly at six 
in the afternoon, and continue till all be sold. 
Catalogues are given out at place of sale, or by 
Michael Johnson, of Lichfield. 

"Conditions of Sale. 

" I. That he who bids most is the buyer, but 
if any difference arise which the company can- 
not decide, the book or books to be put to sale 

"2. That all the books, for aught we know, 
are perfect ; but if any appear otherwise before 
taken away, the buyer to have the choice of 
taking or leaving them. 

"3. That no person advance less than 6d, 
each bidding, after any book comes to los., 
nor put in any book or set of books under 
half value. 

"*** Note. — Any gentleman that cannot at- 
tend may send his orders, and they shall be 
faithfully executed. 

" Printed for Mich. Johnson, 1 717-18. 

"To ALL Gentlemen, Ledies and Others, 
in and near Worcester.^ — I have had several 
auctions in your neighborhood — as Gloucester, 
Tewkesbury, Evesham, &c. — with success, and 
am now to address myself, and try my fortune 
with you. You must not wonder that I begin 
every day's sale with small and common books ; 
the reason is, a room is some time a-filling, and 
persons of address and business seldom coming 
fast, they are entertained till we are full. They 
are ever the last books of the best kind of that 
sort, for ordinary families and young persons, 
&c. But in the body of the Catalogue you will 
find Law, Mathematicks, History, and for the 
learned in Divinity there are Drs. South, Tay- 
lor, Tillotson, Beveridge, and Flavel, &c., the 
best of that kind ; and to please the Ladies I 
have added store of fine pictures and paper- 
hangings; and by the way I would desire them 
to take notice that the pictures shall always 
be put up by noon of that day they are to be 
sold, that they may be viewed by daylight. 
I have no more but to wish you pleased, and 
myself a good sale, who am, 

" Your humble servant 

"M. Johnson." 


In his Diary Samuel Pepys 

Sat writing one day on the stpys, 

While his wife from above 

Was accusing her love 
Of consorting with French demi-repys. 

— Percy F. Bicknell, Lippincolfs. 



Mr. Martin Dooley, apron thrown over his 
head, was lolHng before the pot-bellied stove, 
indulging in his post-meridian forty winks, 
when an old gentleman, attired in the frock- 
coat and top-hat of forty years ago, noiselessly 
entered the saloon and stood before him. 

"Mr. Dooley," he said, a quiet smile of 
amusement on his genial, spectacled face, as 
he flicked the apron playfully away, "a fellow- 
philosopher greets you. Michael Angelo Tit- 
marsh, otherwise known as William Makepeace 
Thackeray. Ahem. You possibly have heard 
the name ?" 

"Makep'ace," said Mr. Dooley, promptly; 
"'tis meself that gives ye th' right hand iv 
fellowship, and dirthy wather on th' clane socks 
iv th' man that scorns yer mimory. By ray- 
pute ye' re well known to me as a man that 
done his livel best to hould the mirror up to 
human natchur. As I've said many's th' time 
to me good frind Hinnissy, they'se a hear-rty 
grip iv me fist waitin' f'r the jool that writ 
'Vanity Fair,' 'How to be Happy tho' Har-rf 
Dead,' an' those other wans. Willy, th' way ye 
plunked out at th' snobocracy iv sixty year ago, 
sans pur sans et rayprosh, as me frind Daudet 
would put it, makes me feel rale sorry yer 
ould mawther hadn't anawther like ye. Put 
it there, Makep'ace. An' say, if ye've got naw- 
thin' pressin' on at the prisint, bar yer clothes, 
let me suggist that ye take th' Limited to New 
Yor-rk City. 'Tis meself that will give ye th' 
enthry to th' git-off-th' -earth four hundred, 
Thack. Ye've but to say ye're th' tinth jook 
of Stonebroke, the first wan iv whom come 
over with th' Comcurer, an' watch raysults. 
I'll bet ye five buck to a slip iv yer whiskers 
Mrs. Porkquartz, with th' four fine dawters 
ready for mar-rket, will fall on yer neck. Ould 
Ilefeller will cough to any tune if ye look swate 
at his bouncin' Julianna. 'Times change,' said 
Shakespeare; but th' New Yor-rk 'Vanity 
Fair' of 1903, by William Makep'ace Thackeray, 
would sell like hot throtters on a Saturday 
night " 

" Social ambition ever dominates the bour- 
geois breast, sir," said Mr. Thackeray, mildly. 
"Your self-made man, gentleman though he 
may be, is handicapped in the matrimonial 
stakes with the blue-blooded snob. Obnubilate 
the folly of it, and there is much humor in the 
aspirations of your horny-handed trust mag- 
nate or your oily-visaged Croesus from Porcop- 
olis. You see it ?" 

"Humor, is it?" said Mr. Dooley. "Faith, 
thin, to be honest, I have no sinse iv it. Whin 
I was a bit iv a la-ad in ould Roscommon, wan 

Sundah mawrnin' somethin' prompted me to 
put a char-rge iv black powhder in th' ould 
man's dudeen just afore he rayched out f'r it. 
Afther th' doc. had taken th' bandages from 
off his ould face, he knocked th' humor out 
iv me with a chair-leg." 

"Unconscious humor proves ever the most 
diverting," said Mr. Thackeray, smiling. "I 
say it not out of compliment, sir, but in my 
projected volume on ' Twentieth-Century Hu- 
morists ' the name of Martin Dooley will be 
foimd as the emperor of modem laughter- 
makers. It gratifies me exceedingly, sir, to 
find that, though that name is known wher- 
ever the beautiful Irish language is under- 
stood, the bearer of it blushes behind his bar 
to find it famous." 

"Makep'ace, ye ould sinner," returned Mr. 
Dooley, "if it's pullin' th' leg iv Martin Dooley 
y'are, ye've got to look out f'r th' straight push 
that sits th' spar-rks a-flicker in th' vision. 
Niver in my wildest drames iv glory an' laurel 
crowns have I sit meself up as a rival to Mar-rk 
Twain or th' Garman Imp'ror. Life's made up 
of too many obitchuaries to joke on. As my 
good frind Hogan says, ' Ye'er here to-day an' 
to-morrow yer wife's lookin' ar-round f'r th' 
man whose feet'll best fit your boots.' If 'tis 
contimplatin' th' production iv a book on th' 
'Shinin' Lights iv' th' Amer-rican Bar-r' or a 
'Threatise on Political Ayconomy' ye are, I'll 
be plased to lit ye have me picther, or if ye 
like to sind yer stenographer ar-round afther 
closin' time I'll give ye a gim iv poethry to 
ador-m th' title-page that would make Tinny- 
son, Rudyar-rd Kipling, or Walt Whitman 
grane with invy, hathred, malice, an' all on- 
charitableniss, conditionally that ye lit me cor- 
rect th' proof iv me biography. 

"The really great humorist, Mr. Dooley," 
said Mr. Thackeray, "is the man who speaks 
true words in jest. He is a satirist whose 
audacities endear him to his victims by their 
undeniable appositeness. Impertinent perti- 
nence, whether applied to human frailties or 
national traits, is the humor that sets the blase 
world a-chuckle perforce. As one who in his 
day has tickled the risible faculties of his fellow- 
men to some considerable extent, I may be per- 
mitted to express an opinion " 

Mr. Dooley stretched himself and gave a 
prodigious yawn. 

"Ye've ivry rayson to be proud iv yer 
achayvemints, Thack," he said. Then, open- 
ing his eyes, he stared about him dazedly and 
started forward. " Bedad now, I do belay ve 
I've been dramin'," he said. 



By Andrew James Miller. 

The subject of the permanency of literary It is idle to say that literary men have all the 

fame is obviously one too large to be even like chances: there is no floodtime to fortune 

superficially treated in a single article, and I with some and no ebbtime with others. Oc- 

shall, therefore, only take a hasty glance at its casionally some obscure and timorous writer 

eccentric operation with the authorship of the gets a piece of good luck, which makes amends 

South. for a lifetime of neglect; but this is very 

We are almost daily reminded of the great rare. Even the major portion of the few, 

uncertainty of literary fame. This is strangely whose works succeed, generally die before 

true of the meritorious as well as unworthy they are appreciated. 

literary work, since we can see that men of In considering the neglect into which the 

great genius and originality have occasionally names of many Southern authors have fallen 

shared the fate of those who never even de- liberal allowance must be made for the changed 

served ephemeral fame. This fact demon- conditions of our national life, and the radical 

strates one thing very clearly — that genius differences in the environment of two distinct 

alone will not insure popularity, while death epochs of Southern civilization. This fact is 

lays his icy fingers on authors as well as kings, so manifest that no example or argument is 

and may cover them all with the dust of necessary to elucidate it. Besides, manners 

forgetfulness, and with as little discrimination, change, forms of expression change, methods 

The theories concerning books that live are of plot and treatment change, while the re- 
numerous and often very contradictory. Just finement of one age may be regarded as coarse- 
why one book should live and another die is ness in the next. Indeed, it must be ad- 
not explained upon the ground of its purity mitted that much of the fiction of thirty or 
of diction, elaborate plot, or play of intellectual forty years ago was too richly interlarded with 
and complicated forces. Neither is it ex- exalted chivalry, high-flown gallantry, emo- 
plained by its perfection of art or those many tional excesses, fainting heroines, love-lorn 
aesthetic adornments which belong to the true heroes, oppressed innocence and black-hearted 
masters of letters, culture, refinement, aesthetic villains. It would offend a few authors of this 
training, and all the many elements of knowl- past generation, who are still living, to single 
edge, which are only aids to the true and real out the particular works of this more or less 
interest of a book that will live. It is the namby-pamby character. That such literary 
human element, the appeal to the basic, work has enjoyed its ephemeral popularity 
common and universal emotions, the touch of and been forgotten, creates no surprise, as it 
nature, which is the real life-essence of a book, deserved no better fate. 

This fact is illustrated more clearly in the But what are we to say of the work of not 
drama. How many persons in an average a few genuine literary artists, whose pro- 
audience are competent to give an author- ductions were great both in conception and in 
itative opinion on the real art of the play? execution, but whose creations have been 
Of course there are few, but the drama is not allowed to pass into forgetfulness? Such has 
merely a question of art, and there are few been the fate of those we will here enumerate, 
actors who are not willing to commit a crime as well as many others which the limits of this 
against art to "play to the gallery," because article will not permit us to mention, 
to play against the gallery is a crime against Out of the illustrious coterie of minstrels of 
common sense. ' the war period, there is one singer of sweetest 

It is so with books. Outside of a proper lyrics, whose entire works are resplendent with 

literary presentation, they, too, must have richest garlands of lyrical grandiloquence, 

that human element, which is always a part This is Frank O. Ticknor, of Georgia, whose 

of the "play to the gallery." And this again rare poetic gifts do not now awaken the ab- 

depends largely upon the whims of a varying sorbing interest they once did, when that 

and evanescent public taste. It is, in fact, martial anthem, " The Virginians of the Valley " 

nothing short of the verdict that must emanate was published. No lover of true poetry can 

from blind chance and impious fate. fail to be impressed with the fire and eloquence 

There is certainly something to be said in of this grand lyric. Paul Hayne said that 

favor of luck in literary effort, however much "Its heart -drawn pathos and half subdued 

scientific people may scoff at its existence, passion is more effective than the famous 


'Ode' of James Russell Lowell." Among his noble and heroic passages. There were few 
other equally noted poems are the "Sword Southerners in the years immediately suc- 
in the Sea," and "Little Giffen," which once ceeding the Civil War, who were not familiar 
had a great vogue, but are now only recalled with "Surrey of Eagle's Nest," and "Hilt to 
by a passing reference. Hilt," as well as the series of other books pub- 
William Gilmore Simms furnishes a promi- lished by this author. But they are now 
nent example of forgotten genius. seldom heard of, or found displayed upon the 
This South Carolina bard was once the book counters, having had their day and 
central figure of Southern admiration and passed into the shadow. 

applause. He wrote many poems, most of At one time the gifted poet, A. J. Requier, 
which show a clear and lucid style, keen ob- singularly felicitous in his purity of taste, was 
servation, lively description and strong imagi- a household word in Southern homes. It was 
nation. The longest and possibly the most when civil strife had precipitated untold hard- 
noted of his many poetic productions was ships and the South was travailing in sack- 
" Atlantis," dealing with the legends after- cloth and ashes, that his once famous "Ashes 
wards so seriously treated by Ignatius Don- of Glory" appeared. Its lofty sentiments, 
nelly. His collection of "War Poetry of the though tinged with sadness, struck the depths 
South," which appeared in 1867, was enthu- of hearts bowed with a national grief, lending 
siastically received, and continued in popularity a melancholy sweetness to sorrow and death, 
up to the time of his death, in Charleston, three But, as we receded from that dark epoch, 
years later. which had inspired this great lyric, and time 
In the early part of the last century, there had mellowed our grief with calm resignation, 
came to this country a young scion of nobility, we suffered this poet and his heart-message 
the son of a king, who settled in Tallahassee, to pass almost completely into the night of 
Fla., and became a naturalized citizen. Im- forgetfulness. 

bued with our republican institutions, he set It is not often that the public man combines 
to work upon a ' ' History of Republican the qualities of statesman and romancer, and 
Government, as perfected in America," which achieves distinction in both. Yet, such was 
occupied him twelve years, and which sub- the happy lot of John Pendleton Kennedy, of 
sequently ran through more than fifty editions. Baltimore, several times a member of Congress, 
That author was Napoleon Murat, son of the and Secretary of the Navy under President 
king of Naples and prince of two Sicilies. Fillmore. This distinction, however, did not 
Though he enjoyed such an immense vogue surpass the popularity of his "Horse-Shoe 
and such a distinguished lineage, it is said that Robinson," which became a furore in literary 
this work died before the author. circles, and enjoyed an unprecedented cir- 
Though the present generation is quick to culation. But, both the statesman and the 
drop one author for another, our grand- author have passed into comparative ob- 
parents were less fickle in regard to their scurity, realizing the statement of DeOuincey, 
favorites. There was a time, for instance that "every age buries its own literature." 
six decades ago, when the lyrics of Richard One of the best and most reliable histories 
Henry Wilde, of New Orleans, met with great of the war of 181 2 was written by Robert 
popular favor, and until the war period, his Breckenridge McAfee, who was also a Ken- 
" My Life is Like the Summer Rose" was tucky lawyer of distinction, and represented 
rehearsed in every Southern household. Equally the United States at Bogota in 1833-37. His 
popular was his work upon the "Love, Mad- "Journal," too, was invaluable to subsequent 
ness and Imprisonment of Torquato Tasso," historians for important data concerning the 
which displays much research and profound early history of Kentucky, which work gained 
study, showing also a deep sensibility and a for him a membership in the Royal Anti- 
philosophic mind. Yet, the uncertainty of quarian Society of Denmark. These marks 
literary fame was never more marked than in of distinguished consideration, however, both 
his case, when it is next to impossible to secure at home and abroad, have not saved his name 
a copy of his once popular productions. from that neglect which has attended so 

The Old Dominion, prolific in gifted writers, many other Southern authors, 

has produced no one who made a more pro- More than a half century ago Edwin Forrest, 

found sensation, in Southern literary circles, then in his prime, as the king of tragedians, 

than John Esten Cooke. His works, once im- offered a prize of $1,000 for the best drama 

mensely popular, are in a highly romantic by an American author. This prize was won 

vein, and his graceful style abounds in many by George Henry Miles, of Baltimore, who 


was then twenty-five years of age. He pro- Strother, Isa Carrington Cabel, Eliza Ann 

duced "Mohammed," which had an excep- Dupuy, Mary Green way McClelland, Fanny 

tional run in all the Eastern theatres, and the Murdaugh Downing, and William A. Carruth- 

popular young dramatist was the recipient of ers. Finally, South Carolina should be chided 

endless ovations. This was followed by many for her neglect to Isaac Harby, Henry Tudor 

plays, sketches and poems, while his "Trou- Farmer, Mary S. Spindler, Mrs. Susan King 

badour's Song" made a great hit years after- Bowen, Frances Elizabeth Barrow, Mrs. Caro- 

ward. Though Miles was the popular toast line H. Jarvey, Wm. ElHott, and Mrs. Julia 

of the period, his short and brilliant career is C. R. Dorr, 

now but a misty memory in dramatic circles. I cannot resist, in this connection, a brief 

Possibly no name of the tumultuous Civil reference to the questions underlying the 

War period has been more obscured than that ephemeral and permanent elements of literary 

of one of its most gifted and enthusiastic work. No general theory can be made appli- 

historians, Edward A. Pollard. As editor of cable to the fickle, many-sided and vacillating 

the Richmond Examiner he was one of the features of public taste, but we do know some 

most earnest advocates of the Southern cause, of the fundamental essentials to any literary 

although a stanch and active opponent of work that expects to live, and have an in- 

the policies of President Davis. Among his fiuence with succeeding generations, 

numerous works he may be best recalled by No author can expect to live enshrined in 

his "Lost Cause," which was published the the memory of posterity who is untrue to his 

year following the close of the war. Though art. No matter what may be his theme, the 

interlarded with many inaccuracies and strong subject entails upon him certain obligations, 

prejudices, it had a phenomenal sale, and, the primary and most important one being 

for the time, made him one of the most promi- the presentation of it logically, and in har- 

nent figures in the South. It is probable, mony with the place and epoch he has chosen, 

however, that outside of special repositories, and all of its accessories and surroundings, 

it would be hard to-day to find a copy of this To paint the rough countenance and warped 

once popular work, while the name of Pollard morals of a rag picker with the same delicacy 

is even omitted from many current biographical as the smooth face of the refined toilets of the 

works proud : to mix indifferently, in some historical 

Alabama has not kept green the memory scene, old things with modem ornaments, or 
of John Sanders Holt, Jeremiah Clemens, modern, with ancient accessories, are the 
Julia Pleasants, Mrs. E. W. Bellamy, and errors and falsities which the impertinence of 
Elizabeth Caroline Lee Hentz. Florida has some and the ignorance of others have ac- 
been remiss in her duties to Mrs. George E. customed us to tolerate, but which are con- 
Spencer. Georgia has practically forgotten demnable and will surely pass away, like other 
Thomas Holley Chivers, Joseph Beckham Cobb, fads and foibles, into the forgotten. 
William H. Sparks, Maria J. Westmoreland. Of the modem books, which have made a 
Francis R. Goulding, and Buckingham Smith, great noise in the literary world, may be 
Mississippi was once proud of Irwin Russell, mentioned "When Knighthood Was In 
Sarah Anne Dorsey, Catherine Ames Warfield, Flower." As an historical romance, which 
Catherine Sherwood McDowell and Rose Vert- it professes to be, it is faulty and incongruous; 
ner Jeffrey. Kentucky has had William Ross its character sketching is defective, and it is 
Wallace, Benjamin Drake, Mrs. Ann Ketchum, plentifully supplied with platitudes and non- 
Sallie Rochester Ford, John Price Durbin, sensical extravagancies. It will not stand a 
Robert Breckenridge McAfee, and Sarah L. comparison with many of the works of Scott 
Bolton. Louisiana has produced Charles F. and Froissart. 

Delery, Adrien E. Roquette, Susan Blanchard "The Choir Invisible" put James Lane 

Elder, Ada Isaacs Menken, and Mrs. Celia V. Allen at the top of the ladder, and he was a 

Jemison. North Carolina has not been true momentary rage. His style is sober and 

to the memories of Francis Lister Hawks and serious, evincing a peculiar order of minor 

Richard Irving Dodge. Tennessee, with the genius. Yet, the work has few, if any, lasting 

gifted Murfrees, has neglected WilHam Ran- qualities, and, like the mass of modem fiction, 

dolph Hunter and David Rice Mc Anally. Vir- will soon be forgotten. 

ginia has a long list of those who have shed a "The Hon. Peter Sterling" of the unfor- 

brilliant light upon the fields of literature, tunate Paul Leicester Ford, and "Janice 

among whom can be mentioned John Finley, Meredith," by the same author, have achieved 

Blanche Roosevelt Machetti, David Hunter great popularity and an almost phenomenal 



demand. They display much human insight, 
and are worthily written. But, the chief 
interest they arouse is from their realism, 
which is a short-lived fancy of the modem 
literary world. To these might appropriately 
be added "A Fool's Errand," "Called Back," 
"Mr. Barnes of New York," "The Quick or 
the Dead," "Robert Elsmere," "Dodo," 
"Trilby," and all the weird creations of Rider 
Haggard, Marie Corelli, and some others. 

The second obligation of the author is to 
draw from the subject all of which it is capable ; 
to tell us seriously, sincerely and completely 
all that he may have seen, felt or desired in 
that connection. We have a right to expect 
this much from all candidates for public 
favor, while they are reflecting the moral 
and intellectual tergiversations of society. The 
chief offenders against this obligation have 
been the satirists, pseudo-philosophers, many 
of the critics, and not a few of the exponents 
of biblical dogma and doctrine. It would ap- 
pear absolutely impossible for certain authors 
to treat kindly and justly a subject which 
happens to be inconsistent with their views 
of philosophy. The present German emperor, 
in his state papers and public addresses, is an 
impersonation of this idea. Right and wrong 
are absolute entities to him, and there can be 
no paltering between the two. His moral 
world has but two dimensions, and he cannot 
comprehend a third. This same arrogance 
is manifested even in Emile Zola, when he ap- 
peared as the analyst of the religious sentiment 
in man. In this, he presents conspicuously 
the spectacle of a novelist out of place, for- 
mulating counsel without wisdom, and pre- 
tending to illustrate a subject, which he casts 
into deeper mystery. 

In conclusion, we will hastily scan style, the 
final element in the life of literature. The 
poet Watson tells us that it is "the great anti- 
septic in literature and the most powerful 
preservative against decay." This is prob- 
ably the view of a large number, who are 
competent to pass judgment upon it, and yet 
it does not somehow co-ordinate with many 
conspicuous examples in literary history. Take, 
for example, Thucydides and Aristotle. The 
style of the former is often akin to that of the 
famous Mrs. Gamp, while that of Aristotle may 
be said to be conspicuous by its absence; yet 
these authors are full of vitality, by dint of 
their strength, spirit and wisdom. On the 
other hand, it may be said that Virgil lives by 
virtue of his undefinable style, which breathes 
throughout the "Aeneid," in music unrivalled 
and unapproached. It is thus seen that Virgil 

lives by his style, while the others live in spite 
of theirs. Style is, therefore, a matter of 
mystery, exceedingly difficult to fathom, and 
certainly not governed by any uniform rules, 
since the humorist and dialect writer can 
sometimes achieve as lasting fame as the great 
allegorical and ideal conceptions of a Milton 
or a Dante. 

To summarize, it would seem axiomatic that 
the popularity of a book affords no certain test 
of its greatness: that, as readers grow in 
numbers, there will ever be an increasing de- 
mand for books that can be enjoyed without 
effort; that a truly great book is a rare pro- 
duction and always will be ; that the excessive 
literary activity of an age may add to the 
number of highly cultivated authors, without 
adding much to the list of those who are 
destined to live. — Gulf States Historical Mag- 

The Polygamous Poet, 

By Williftm Wallace Whltelock. 

O poet — I will call you so, 

I will not write your name — 
With sorrow I have learned that you 

Are dead to honest shame; 
Each day or two a verse I read 

In which your love's displayed 
For some sweet lass; but every time 

It is a different maid! 
Last week you sang of one whose hair 

Was "like the setting sun," 
And swore that you would love her while 

"The sands of life still run"; 
And yet to-day I find you rave 

About a pure brunette, 
And say her hair is like the sky 

When Helios has set. 
The maid you loved at Christmas time 

Is not your valentine, 
And cherries red, and autumn leaves, 

Are each a zodiac sign, 
Set in the sky of love to show 

Some other star has gained 
Ascendency, where many a star 

A little while has reigned. 
And so it goes from Kate to Rose, 

From Rose to laughing Bess, 
For each in turn you madly burn, 

As you yourself confess; 
And yet, as all the world's aware, 

The partner of your life 
Is dumpy, plain, and squints a bit — 

Your uncomplaining wife. 
The Latins said, "As many minds 

As there are men"; but you, 
"As many minds as there are girls," 

Which is a doctrine new; 
Indeed, I fear at heart you are 

Polygamous, O Poet! 
But fail to grasp such shamelessness 

As publicly to show it. 

— Brooklyn Life. 



By Arthur H%.yd«i\. 

"Our army swore terribly in Flanders," ac- while Marry come up like Marry guep oi'^Hudi- 

cording to Uncle Toby of "Tristram Shandy" bras" (I. iii. 202), has been interpreted Mary 

renown, but our civilians appear to have sworn go up, an allusion to the Assumption of our 

quite as terribly at an earlier period, if we Lady. 

may judge from William Congreve's play of Coming to the plays of Sheridan, we find in 

the "Old Bachelor" produced in 1693, which "A trip to Scarborough," first acted in 1777, 

literally abounds with expletives of all kinds, not a few good round oaths. The exquisite 

Zounds! is corrupted into '00ns. We have Lord Foppington, when trying on his new 

O Gemini! now popularized into Jimminy! clothes, exclaims, "Death and eternal tor- 

Our modem By Jove is a popularized Roman tures, sir! I say the coat is too wide here by 

oath, and few among those who use it are a foot." To which the tailor replies, "My 

aware that they are swearing by a heathen lord, if it had been tighter 'twould neither 

deity. Tertullian tells us that the early Chris- hook or button." "Rat the hooks and but- 

tians used the old Roman oath, Mehercle by tons, sir!" exclaims the young buck. "As God 

Hercules, without knowing what it meant, shall jedge me, it hangs on my shoulders like 

Then we have A God's name, Egad, O Gad, a chairman's surtout." Lord Foppington con- 

'Sdeath (God's death). Death, a more abbre- ducts a spirited conversation with a lady in 

viated form. Lord, By the Lord Harry. It will the following manner: "I am overjoyed that 

be seen that the name of God occurs in many you think of continuing here, stap my vitals. 

of these oaths, though in a corrupted form; For Gad's sake. Madam, how has your lady- 

either this was occasioned by constant use, or ship been able to subsist thus long under the 

a slight variation was adopted to avoid taking fatigues of a country life!" When wounded in 

the name of the Deity in vain. Deuce is simply an encounter he cries out, "Ah, quite through 

a corruption of L>^M5, which occurs as an inter- the body, stap my vitals!" his favorite ex- 

jection in a very old play called the "Lay of pression, which, by the way, was more than 

Havelok the Dane," written about 1280, in usually appropriate under the circumstances, 

the reign of Edward 1. Bob Acres' "genteel" style of oath was of an 

What a dickens occurs in Congreve's plays, elastic form which conveniently adapted itself 

but it was used earlier by Shakespeare in the to whatever subject happened to be on the 

"Merry Wives of Windsor": "I cannot tell carpet. We quote a few phrases from his ex- 

what the dickens his name is." Dickens is tensive vocabulary: "Ods whips and wheels, 

possibly a contraction of devilkins. This re- I've traveled like a comet." " Ods flints, pans, 

minds us of the lines that were circulated when and triggers ; Ods balls and barrels ; Ods bullets 

the author of "Sketches by Boz" threw off and blades." His servant, on the contrary 

his nom de plume — never deviates from the old-fashioned oath of 

"Who the dickens Boz could be "By the Mass." 

Puzzled many a learned elf, "A gentleman would forfeit all pretensions 

Till time unveiled the mystery, to that title," says a writer in the Connoisseur 

And Boz appeared as Dickens' self!" ' ^f February 19, 1756, "who should choose to 

In Congreve's "Love for Love" we find embellish his discourse with the oratory of 

Mess! and By the Mess! both of which are Billingsgate, and converse in the style of an 

corruptions of an earlier form of oath once oyster- woman ; but it is accounted no disgrace 

common. By the Mass! This earlier form is to him to use the same coarse expressions of 

to be met with in Chaucer's " Boke of the cursing and swearing with the meanest of the 

Duchesse," and in " Hamlet," Act iii.. Scene 2, mob. For my own part," continues the writer, 

we find " By the Mass 'tis very like a camel." "I cannot see the difference between a *By 

Marry and Amen is a survival of the older oath Gad ' or a ' Gad dem me ' minced and softened 

By Mary! In the Chester Mysteries (circ. by a genteel pronunciation from well-bred lips, 

1450) the Patriarch Noah is made to swear By and the same expression bluntly blurted out 

Marye, a curious anachronism. Zooks means from the broad mouth of a porter or a hackney 

God's Looks. Other forms to be found in Con- coachman." 

greve are Gadzooks and 'Ods zooks. The ex- During the time of the Commonwealth, those 

clamation Flesh! is a contraction of 'Ods flesh, who framed the laws were strongly of this opin- 

sometimes further contracted into 'Odsfish, ion, and profane swearing was rigorously sup- 


pressed. According to Hansard, on June 28, in the social scale. For this purpose the Brit- 

1650, a law was made that every person styling ish public was to be divided into three classes, 

himself a duke, marquis, earl, viscount, or First, day laborers, common sailors, common 

baron, who profanely cursed or swore, should soldiers were to be fined one shilling for every 

forfeit thirty shillings, a baronet or knight oath; second, other persons under the degree 

twenty shillings, an esquire ten shillings, a gen- of gentlemen were ordered to pay two shillings ; 

tleman six shillings and eightpence, and all in- third, persons of or above the degree of gentle- 

ferior persons three shillings and fourpence. men were to forfeit the sum of five shillings 

Wives and widows were to pay penalties equiv- for every oath they uttered, 
alent to what their husbands would have paid, We cannot do better than refer our readers, 

and single women according to their father's in concluding our article, to a letter on the 

rank. This taxation upon the tongues of the "Folly of Profane Swearing" written by James 

various grades of society at a time when swear- Howell, who died shortly after the Restora- 

ing was only too common in everyday talk is tion, to his friend, a captain, who was addicted 

a singular revelation as to the powers that the to that habit. " Now I am of the number of 

Parliament of that time took upon itself even those," says the writer, "that had rather com- 

in the governance of the common parlance of mend the virtue of an enemy than scathe the 

the people. We do not know whether the re- vices of a friend ; for your own particular, if 

verse of that which Shakespeare in his ' ' Meas- your parts of virtue and your infirmities were 

ure for Measure" laid down as an axiom was cast into a balance, I know the first would 

the course pursued by the Puritans, who proba- much outpoise the other ; yet give me leave 

bly did not hold to tell you that there is one frailty, or rather 

"That in the captain's but a choleric word ill-favored custom, that reigns in you, which 

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy." weighs much; it is a humor of swearing in all 

Honest Jack Falstafif, with his "good mouth- your discourses, and they are not slight but 

filling oath," would have been looked upon as deep far-fetched oaths that you are wont to 

a worthy citizen on account of the revenue he rap out, which you use as flowers of rhetoric 

would have yielded to the state, if, indeed, a to enforce a faith upon the hearers, who be- 

brief career in an age so foreign to his nature lieve you never the more ; and you use this in 

had not made him a bankrupt. cold blood when you are not provoked, which 

At the Restoration a license prevailed con- makes the humor more dangerous. I know 

sequent upon such a strained system of re- many (and I cannot say I am myself free from 

pression, and every one indulged in profane it, God forgive me), that, being transported 

language. To quote an old saying of the with choler, and as it were, made drunk with 

time — passion by some sudden provoking accident, 

"Let those swear now who never swore before, or extreme ill-fortune at play, will let fall oaths 

And those who'd swear before now swear the more." and deep protestations; but, to belch out and 

Matters, however, were checked in the reign send forth, as it were whole volleys of oaths 
of George II., when a statute was passed which and curses in a calm humor, to verify every 
enacts that "forasmuch as the horrid, im- trivial discourse, is a thing of horror." 
pious, and execrable vices of profane cursing The letter quaintly concludes by a worthy 
and swearing so highly displeasing to Almighty sentiment that "all other sins have for their 
God, and loathsome and offensive to every object either pleasure or profit, or some aim 
Christian, are become so frequent and notor- or satisfaction to body or mind, but this hath 
ious, that, unless speedily and effectually pun- none at all; therefore fie upon it, my dear 
ished they may justly provoke the Divine Captain; try whether you can make a con- 
vengeance to increase the many calamities quest of yourself in subduing this execrable 
these nations labor under, and that whereas custom. Alexander subdued the world ; Caesar 
the laws now in being for punishing those his enemies; Hercules monsters; but he that 
crimes have not answered the intents for which o'ercomes himself is the true valiant captain." 

they were designed, by means of difficulties 

attending the putting such laws in execution." a id • r r- ♦ ♦ 

This act goes to provide a remedy for this ^ Kccipc tor l^ontcnt. 

shocking state of things, by enacting that, Into a neat little room, all cozy and tight, 

after June i, 1746, any person convicted before Pu<^ two large glasses of Southern light; 

o rv1^X;c■^^^+^ ^^7 4-1 ^ *-• t -4- And an ounce of tobacco and a good easy chair, 

a magistrate, on the testimony of one witness, ^^^^ ^^.^^^^ ^.^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^H ^^-^^ and rare. 

ot profanely swearing and cursing should for- Flavor with prints in the usual way 

feit a sum of money proportionate to his status And serve to the taste, on a dull rainy day. : 



May, 1903, was the centenary of a gifted and 
unfortunate Irish poet. James Clarence Man- 
gan, who was the son of a Dubhn grocer, 
and was educated by an Irish priest, was a 
man of considerable erudition. His studies, 
however, were interrupted only too soon, and 
he was forced to become the bread-winner of 
his family. This meant for a boy singularly 
sensitive, singularly unfitted to cope with the 
realities of daily drudgery, seven years in a 
scrivener's and three in an attorney's office. 
During this period of ten years' constant perse- 
cution, Mangan's natural incongruity with his 
surroundings became accentuated. He be- 
came conscious of isolation, conscious of a hope- 
less unfitness for the ordinary tasks of men. 
He tried two or three other kinds of employ- 
ment, and then drifted into the ranks of journal- 
ism. He was not naturally a journalist, and 
he had little instinct for the fleeting surface of 
things. On the contrary, his mind harked con- 
stantly back to the remote past. 

In the hour of freedom Mangan reverted at 
once to the early studies of his boyhood. He 
was fond of languages, but he was not a great 
linguist, and his "translations" were for the 
most part adaptations or original poems. But 
he learned German, and sought in the pages of 
German philosophy a freedom from the practi- 
cal ills of his shattered life ; German philosophy 
and the glamor of Celtic and Oriental legends 
always attracted him profoundly. In the pur- 
suit of the one he attained to a mental detach- 
ment from his sordid surroundings, while the 
other gave him the password to a magic world. 
In these two pursuits he was happy, and from 
them he drew the inspiration of his art. He 
was a real poet without artifice, and without 
even the conscious delight of self-expression. 
He probably never knew the real meaning of 
the divine force within him, for mediocrity had 
taught him to judge himself after its own stand- 
ard. But sometimes the poet in him leapt out 
beyond the petty barriers, and he spoke, this 
unfortunate one, as though for him also there 
had been something of the triumph and the joy 
of life. 

In such moments he writes with a strange 
glamor which Edgar Allen Poe has never sur- 
passed in his most subtle studies : 

Through city and desert my mates and I 

Were free to rove and roam, 
Our diapered canopy the deep of the sky, 

Or the roof of the palace dome. 
Oh, ours was the vivid hfe to and fro, 

Which only sloth derides! 
Men spent life so — long, long ago, 

In the time of the Barmecides; 

Men spent life so — long, long ago. 
In the time of the Barmecides. 

I see rich Bagdad once again, 

With its turrets of Moorish mould. 
And the Kalif's twice five hundred men 

Whose binishes flamed with g<jld. 
I call up many a gorgeous show 

Which the Pall of (3blivion hides 
All passed like snow — long, long ago, 

With the time of the Barmecides; 
All passed like snow — long, long ago. 

With the time of the Barmecides. 

That is poetry illuminated by the radiance 
of life, but he has left us evidence of the simpler 
emotions of the human heart. Take for ex- 
ample, "The Mariner's Bride;" here, at all 
events, is a glimpse of Mangan the man, the 
lover who had forgotten the cruelty of the 
years : 

"Look, mother! the mariner's rowing 

His galley a-down the tide; 
I'll go where the mariner's going, 

And be the mariner's bride! 

" I saw him one day through the wicket, 

I opened the gate and we met. 

As a bird in the fowler's net. 
Was I caught in my own green thicket. 
O mother, my tears are flowing, 

I've lost my maidenly pride; 
I'll go if the mariner's going, 

And be the mariner's bride!" 

As a matter of fact, the romance in the 
poet's life was unfortunate, without leaving him, 
even as a consolation, the stimulus of a great 
passion. It might have redeemed him, and 
there was so much in Mangan that was worth 
redeeming. It might have left him, even in 
his very failure, an illusion, a something out- 
side of and beyond the dull beaten path of his 
life. But it was banal; to the man whose 
dreams encircled the wide world this girl could 
not leave even a tender memory. 

It seemed faded and feeble, this little tragedy 
of years ago, but it left Mangan more lonely, 
more listless, more severed from human kind 
than ever before. He has left us a bitter pic- 
ture of himself, a picture of genius beaten and 
battered, but still vibrant with the nobler notes 
of poetry: 

Tell how his boyhood was one drear night hour, 

How shone for him, through his griefs and gloom, 
No star of all heaven sends to light our 

Path to the tomb. 
Roll on, my song, and to after ages 

Tell how, disdaining all earth can give, 
He would have taught men from wisdom's pages 

The way to live. 
And tell how, trampled, derided, hated, 

And worn by weakness, disease, and wrong, 
He fled for shelter to God, who mated 
His soul with song. 



Well, that is what the world made of that 
gifted poet, James Clarence Mangan. That is 
how they repaid their debt for the gold of his 
song. And we, with nothing of his imaginative 
suffering in our hearts, with nothing of his 
artist fire, nothing of his genius, are we to con- 
demn him for the faults through which he 
sought an escape from the world which was 
withering his soul? No; whatever it was, 
]\Iangan's debt is paid over and over again. 
He was an artist, and the world denied him 
the joy of his art ; he was a poet, but had been 
too stifled to utter the secret of his own pain; 
he was a lover, and he received nothing in ex- 
change for his love — not even a dream. But 
he was something nobler and higher than the 
people who turned from him, and it is well 
that we who have only what was best in him 
should humbly cherish his memory. 

A Chapter in the History of 
^* Paradise Lost/' 

By F. S. Ellis. 

Were it possible to trace a book from the 
time of its publication through the hands of 
its successive owners, how odd and curious 
would be the circumstances under which it 
changed hands from time to time. To weave 
a sequence of imaginary "Adventures of a 
book" would be a theme not unworthy the 
pen of a skillful romance writer, but it does not 
often happen that it is possible to give the 
real history of a short period even in the life 
of a book so accurately as I am able to do that 
of the copy of the first edition of Milton's 
"Paradise Lost," which reached the unprec- 
edented price of ;£i2o at the sale of the 
library of Mr. E. H. Lawrence, in May, 1892. 
Some thirty years since I was talking with Mr. 
Hunt, for many years Town Clerk of Ipswich, 
who was an ardent book collector, and in the 
course of conversation he lamented how some 
ten years previously he had missed an op- 
portunity of buying a first edition of " Paradise 
Lost" under the following circumstances: 
There was a sale in the neighborhood of 
Ipswich in which a number of books were in- 
cluded. These were all tied in bundles and 
catalogued simply as so many books in the 
lot. Going over one of these bundles, what 
was his surprise to find a first edition of " Para- 
dise Lost" with the first title-page, and in the 
original sheepskin binding. He said nothing, 
but went round to the auctioneer's house and 
asked him if he would be willing to sell him 
a particular book out of the collection previous 
to auction. "Oh! by all means," said the 

auctioneer; "just point me out the volume 
and say what you are willing to give for it, 
and you can take it out at once." What was 
Mr. Hunt's chagrin and disappointment on 
again taking up the bundle to find that the 
number of books was all right according to 
the catalogue, but the Milton's " Paradise 
Lost" had disappeared. Some one with as 
keen an eye as the town clerk had also dis- 
covered the jewel, and not being troubled 
with as many scruples of conscience, had put 
in practice the motto that exchange is no 
robbery, and had substituted some other 
volume for the Milton without going through 
the formality of a consultation with the 

Not long after this a "Paradise Lost" 
(which I have every reason to believe was the 
"Paradise Lost"), in the original sheepskin 
binding and having the original title-page, 
was offered for sale to Mr. Simpson, who 
carried on an old book business for Mr. Skeat 
in King William street, Strand. He pur- 
chased it for what in those days was con- 
sidered a high price; but how much it was 
below what is now esteemed its value is wit- 
nessed by the fact that he offered it to the 
late Mr. Crossley of Manchester, and after 
much haggling sold it to him for what now 
seems the absurdly low price of ;^i2 12s. 
When Mr. Crossley had secured it, he quietly 
remarked, "And now let me tell you that if 
you find a dozen more copies in similar con- 
dition I will give you the same price for every 
one." It remained in Mr. Crossley' s library 
for many years, and at the sale of his books 
in 1884 realized what was considered the very 
high price of ;^2 5. Eight years more and it 
had advanced to ;i^i2o. Let not possessors 
of first editions of "Paradise Lost" imagine 
that their treasure is of a like value unless it 
fulfills the like conditions, i. That it has the 
first title, 1667. 2. That it is perfectly clean, 
neither needing nor having suffered from the 
careful attentions of some "eminent" binder 
in the way of cleaning, washing, sizing, and 
pressing. 3. That it is in the original calf or 
sheepskin binding, just as it issued from the 
shop of Peter Parker, Robert Boulder, or 
Matthias Walker, the joint publishers, without 
having been invested with the glories of blue, 
black, green, or red morocco, with gilt edges, 
at the hands of Bedford, Riviere, or any other 
"skillful" professor of the modem binding art. 

The particulars I have given of the history of 
this book were related to me respectively at 
different times, in the course of bibliographical 
gossip, by the late Mr. Hunt and Mr. Simpson, 



The following extremely interesting letter of government and modes of religion, and 

was written by Dr. Johnson on May 28, 1768. therefore those books are necessary and com- 

It was quite unknown until nearly half a mon in some places, which, where different 

century after its author's death ; and as it has opinions or different manners prevail, are of 

only been printed once or twice before, we do little use, and for that reason rarely to be 

not think any apology is necessary for re- found. 

producing it in this place. The letter is ad- " Thus in Italy you may expect to meet with 

dressed to F. A. Barnard Esq.* : Canonists and Scholastic Divines, in Germany 

"Sir: It is natural for a Scholar to interest with Writers on the Feudal laws, and in 
himself in an expedition undertaken like Holland with Civilians. The Schoolmen and 
yours for the importation of literature; and Canonists must not be neglected, for they are 
therefore, though having never traveled my- useful to many purposes, nor too anxiously 
self, I am very little qualified to give advice sought, for their influence among us is much 
tp a traveler, yet, that I may not seem in- lessened by the Reformation. Of the Canon - 
attentive to a design so worthy of regard, I ists at least a few eminent writers may be 
will try whether the present state of my sufficient. The Schoolmen are of more general 
health will suffer me to lay before you what value. But the Feudal and Civil Law I cannot 
observation or report have suggested to me, but wish to see complete. The Feudal con- 
that may direct your inquiries, or facilitate stitution is the original of the law of property, 
your success. Things of which the mere over all the civilized part of Europe, and the 
rarity makes the value, and which are prized Civil Law, as it is generally understood to in- 
at a high rate by a wantonness rather than elude the law of nations, may be called with 
by use, are always passing from poorer to great propriety a regal study. Of these books, 
richer countries, and, therefore, though Ger- which have been often published, and diver- 
many and Italy were principally productive sified by various modes of impression, a Royal 
of Typographical curiosities, I do not much Library should have at least the most curious 
imagine that they are now to be found there edition, the most splendid, and the most use- 
in great abundance. An eagerness for scarce ful. The most curious edition is commonly 
books and early editions, which prevailed the first, and the most useful may be expected 
among the English about half a century ago, among the last. Thus, of Tully's Offices, the 
filled our shops with all the splendor and edition of Fust is the most curious, and that 
nicety of literature, and when the Harleian of Graevius the most useful. The most splen- 
Catalogue was published, many of the books did, the eye will discern. With the old Printers 
were bought for the Library of the King of you are now become well acquainted; if you 
France. can find any collection of their productions to 

"I believe, however, that by the diligence be sold, you will undoubtedly buy it; but this 

with which you have enlarged the Library can scarcely be hoped, and you must catch 

under your care, the present stock is so nearly up single volumes where you can find them, 

exhausted, that till new purchases supply In every place things often occur where they 

the booksellers with new stores, you will not are least expected. I was shown a Welsh 

be able to do much more than glean up single grammar written in Welsh, and printed at 

books, as accident shall produce them; this, Milan, I believe, before any Grammar of that 

therefore, is the time for visiting the con- language had been printed here. Of purchas- 

tinent. ing entire libraries, I know not whether the 

"What addition you can hope to make by inconvenience may not overbalance the ad- 
ransacking other countries, we will now con- vantage. Of libraries collected with general 
sider. English literature, you will not seek views, one will have many books in common 
in any place but in England. Classical Learn- with another. When you have bought two 
ing is diffused everywhere, and is not, except collections you will find that you have bought 
by accident, more copious in one part of the many books twice over, and many in each 
polite world than in another. But every which you have left at home, and, therefore, 
country has literature of its own, which may did not want; and when you have selected a 
be best gathered in its native soil. The small number, you will have the rest to sell 
studies of the learned are influenced by forms at a great loss, or to transport hither at per- 

-^^^STrwards Sir F. Barnard, and for about half a cen- ^aps a greater. It will generally be more com- 

tury librarian to George III. modious to buy the few that you want, at a 



price somewhat advanced, than to encumber 
yourself with useless books. But libraries col- 
lected for particular studies will be very valu- 
able acquisitions. The Collection of an emi- 
nent Civilian, Feudist, or Mathematician, will 
perhaps have very few superfluities. Topog- 
raphy or local History prevail much in many 
parts of the Continent. I have been told that 
scarcely a village of Italy wants its historian. 
These books may be generally neglected, but 
some will deserve attention by the celebrity 
of the place, the eminence of the authors, or 
the beauty of the sculptures. Sculpture has 
always been more cultivated among other 
nations than among us. The old art of cutting 
on wood, which decorated the books of ancient 
impression, was never carried here to any ex- 
cellence, and the practice of engraving on cop- 
per, which succeeded, has never been much 
employed among us in adorning books. The 
old books with wooden cuts are to be diligently 
sought; the designs were often made by great 
Masters, and the prints such as cannot be 
made by any Artist now living. It will be of 
great use to collect in every place maps of the 
adjacent country, and plans of town buildings, 
and gardens. By this care you will form a more 
valuable body of Geography than can other- 
wise be had. Many countries have been very 
exactly surveyed, but it must not be expected 
that the exactness of actual mensuration will 
be preserved, when the maps are reduced by a 
contracted scale, and incorporated into a gen- 
eral system. 

"The King of Sardinia's Italian dominions 
are not large, yet the maps made of them in the 
reign of Victor, fill two Atlantic folios. This 
part of your design will deserve particular re- 
gard, because, in this, your success will always 
be proportionate to your diligence. You are too 
well acquainted with literary history not to 
know that many books derive their value from 
the reputation of the printers. Of the cele- 
brated printers you do not need to be informed, 
and if you did, might consult Baillet Jugemens 
des Sgavans. The productions of Aldus are 
enumerated in the Bibliotheca Grseca, so that 
you may know when you have them all ; which 
is always of use, as it prevents needless search. 
The great ornaments of a library furnished for 
magnificence as well as use, are the first edi- 
tions, of which, therefore, I would not willingly 
neglect the mention. You know, sir, that the 
annals of Typography begin with the Codex, 
1457; but there is great reason to believe, that 
there are latent, in obscure comers, books 
printed before it. The Secular Feast, in mem- 
ory of the invention of Printing, is celebrated 

in the fortieth year of the century ; if this 
tradition, therefore, is right, the Art had in 
1457 been already exercised nineteen years. 

"There prevails among Typographical An- 
tiquaries a vague opinion that the Bible had 
been printed three times before the edition of 
1462, which Calmet calls 'La premiere Edition 
bien averee ' One of these editions has been 
lately discovered in a convent, and transplanted 
into the French King's Library. Another copy 
has likewise been found, but I know not whether 
of the same impression, or another. These dis- 
coveries are sufficient to raise hope and insti- 
gate inquiry. In the purchase of old books, 
let me recommend to you to inquire with great 
caution, whether they are perfect. In the first 
edition the loss of a leaf is not easily observed. 
You remember how near we both were to pur- 
chasing a mutilated Missal at a high price. 

"All this perhaps you know already, and 
therefore my letter may be of no use. I am, 
however, desirous to show you that I wish 
prosperity to your undertaking. One advice 
more I will give, of more importance than all 
the rest, of which I, therefore, hope you will 
have still less need. You are going into a part 
of the world divided, as it is said, between 
Bigotry and Atheism : such representations are 
always hyperbolical, but there is certainly 
enough of both to alarm any mind solicitous 
for Piety and Truth; let not the contempt of 
Superstition precipitate you into Infidelity; or 
the horror of Infidelity ensnare you in Super- 
stition. I sincerely wish you successful and 
happy, for I am. Sir, 

" Your affectionate humble servant, 

"Sam Johnson." 

In G)ntrovcrsiaI Days. 

They were very controversial in those days. 

1. Bowles wrote a book about Pope. 

2. Campbell abused Bowles's book on Pope. 

3. Bowles replied to Campbell's abuse of 
Bowles on Pope. 

4. Byron wrote an answer to Bowles's an- 
swer to Campbell's abuse of Bowles's book on 

5. "John Bull" wrote a letter to Byron 
about Byron's answer to Bowles's answer to 
Campbell's abuse of Bowles's book on Pope. 

6. Dr. Garnett has a theory of the author- 
ship of "John Bull's Letter to Byron" about 

Byron's comments on Bowles's answer to . 

It is like "The House that Jack Built!"— ^w- 
drew Lang. 



Few shops seem more prosaic and uninvit- idea as to the value of a book and now and 

ing to the average man than that of the second- again we stumljle across a treasure, 
hand book merchant, and yet the business has "What is the most I ever got out of an old 

its excitements, its tricks, its romances, and, document? I got $1,500 for a pamphlet once, 

sometimes, its "lucky strikes," just as in the but I always think the best pro rata price I got 

case of the old Western gold mine, according was for a single page of scribbling for which 

to a writer in the Philadelphia Ledger. most persons wouldn't have given a cent, but 

"See this little diamond I am wearing?" a library wanted that document ever so badly, 

asked a downtown second-hand book man, so as to complete a historical record of the 

drawing a scarfpin from his tie and holding old days of New Jersey. It was merely a page 

the stone in a ray of sunlight that filtered of manuscript of an order of James Alexander, 

through the shelves of dusty books in the show the chief surveyor of the State, to his subordi- 

window. " I'm wearing that, hoping the owner nates. I got $25 for the old paper, 
will happen in some day and claim his property. " How do we keep track of all the valuable 

I found it, just as I found many other trinkets, books and documents? We don't. We merely 

in a lot of second-hand books that I bought do the best we can at it. But I am sure much 

— I never could remember just where. It that is good stuff passes through our hands, 

dropped out of an old Bible as I was turning It requires constant work and alertness to be 

the leaves, in case some find or other should able to keep abreast of the demand for rare 

be concealed in it, for it isn't unusual that we old books, and the man who has them all at 

come across hidden treasures in our stock. his fingers' ends doesn't live. 

"What do we find? All sorts of things, of "You might wonder how we ever manage to 
course, but mostly money. I picked a ten- get hold of a book at all that is of considerable 
dollar bill out of an old volume which some value. Some old book collector, who has been 
poor, hard-up chap brought in here to sell for an expert in his hobby, dies and leaves his 
a few cents and left without ever coming back, library to his heirs. Often it is necessary to 
I even found a fifty-cent piece tucked away be- sell the books so as to settle the estate, and 
tween the leaves of an old magazine, and that the whole library is turned over to us and we 
is stranger than picking up a stray bill. Pawn buy it outright and find it would have paid 
tickets of all sorts we discover frequently. I the heirs to hire an expert to examine it and 
found one for a gold watch about seven years to cull out the works of value. Again, a book- 
ago, and I redeemed the watch for $5.25 and collector dies and his library is treasured for 
wore it for a long time before I sold it and some time by his relatives and heirs. In the 
bought another for my boy. Old letters we course of years, however, as the family moves 
find frequently, and birth and marriage cer- from place to place, the books become a nui- 
tificates and every conceivable document which sance and a burden. Then they are sold to 
one is apt to tuck away so carefully that it us and we are apt to find works that in them- 
can't be found again. I even found a bank selves are worth a dozen times what we paid 
book belonging to the former husband of a for the entire outfit. 

once-prominent actress. I informed the bank "Of course, the big libraries are among our 

of my find and it sent me the last known ad- best customers, but we have many rich clients 

dress of the depositor, but I never heard from who furnish us with a list of books and to whom 

him to this day. we regularly send our catalogues. Some of 

"You see, romance enters even the dusty these live far away. In that case they mark 

shelves of an old bookshop, and only heaven off what they want us to send. In other cases 

knows what importance some of the seemingly — one of these men lives in a splendid home 

unimportant finds would be to the rightful in the Adirondacks — we are ordered to send 

owners if only we knew them. But that's out 500 volumes by freight, and the recipient has 

of the question, mostly. As a rule we buy our all the fun of delving among the books and 

stuff just as if it were so much junk, without culling out what he wants and returning us the 

half knowing what we buy, ourselves, although dross, together with a handsome check for what 

we prefer to buy out of old libraries. Why? is bought. 

Well, that's where the money comes in and "Our customers, you see, are in all walks of 

when we're apt to strike luck. Often the per- life. I had one peculiar old lady, poor, as far 

sons who sell out libraries haven't the faintest as I could guess, but she wanted to do some- 



thing for charity and make her little money 
go as far as it would stretch. She was my 
back-number magazine customer, and kept me 
cleared out of all the magazines I could lay in. 
She would have the books distributed among 
the various hospitals throughout the city, where 
the convalescents could enjoy them. 

"Some of the customers that come in here 
are close-fisted and try to beat us down. Every 
price is distinctly marked in every book, and 
yet there are people who will come in and try 
to cut the prices into halves. I had one once 
and he had often aggravated me with his pecul- 
iar tactics until he found a volume which 
pleased him immensely, when he tried the old 
game to cut the price. When that wouldn't 
do he studied my habits and while I was out 
to dinner tried to work his plan on my clerk. 
I got mad when I heard that and marked up 
the price of the book and told him of the ad- 
vance when he dropped in next time. He 
came in and ogled the book day by day, always 
haggling at the price, until finally I made up 
my mind he could not have it unless he would 
pay double what I asked. Then he offered the 
original price, which I refused, and accepted 
later in the day when another customer selected 
it. And when the old fellow came back he 
was angered beyond description and said he 
would have paid three times what I ever asked 
for it rather than miss the work. 

"One drawback about going into a second- 
hand shop is that the books are so cheap a 
buyer just 'lays in' and 'lays in,' never think- 
ing whether he really needs the book or not. 
I often have noticed this, particularly in women, 
who are apt to bring back an armful of books 
some day and confess they never read them or 
wanted to read them, but were merely struck 
with a passing fancy at the time of sale. 

" Some of my customers are of twenty years' 
standing. I had an old cavalry officer, former- 
ly on General 'Joe' Wheeler's staff, who used 
to come in here every Saturday and rummage 
about and buy just one book. But I haven't 
seen him in some months now, and know he 
must be ill or dead, for he'd been buying his 
books that way regularly for almost twenty 
years. Some of the customers we have are in 
such good standing that we keep an account 
with them, and they settle up monthly, or else 
whenever they can. So you see the old book 
business isn't as dingy and dusty and dry as 
it looks from the outside. It's a line that's 
got to be learned, and that would swallow a 
greenhorn as quick as if he went down on the 
'street.' Next time you come around I may 
have another diamond to show you." 

About Saintc Beuvc. 

[To put what I mean very shortly, I would say, by 
way of illustration, that a man who could read the 
essays of Sainte Beuve with moderate comfort 
would have in his hands — of course, I am now 
speaking of the active and busy part of the world, 
not of bookmen and students — would, I say, have 
in his hands one of the very best instruments that 
I can think of ; such work is exquisite and instruct- 
ive in itself, it is a model of gracious writing, it is 
full of ideas, it breathes the happiest moods over 
us, and it is the most suggestive of guides, for those 
who have the capacity of extensive interests, to all 
the greater spheres of thought and history. — John 
Morley: " On Popular Culture. "] 

In the French magazine, La Revue Bleu, 
Monsieur Jules Troubat, at one time secretary 
to Sainte Beuve, gives an affectionate accotint 
of the indefatigable researches made by the 
great critic for the portrait sketches of his 
"Causeries du Lundi," which appeared every 
week, and which dealt equally with living and 
dead persons. The moment Sainte Beuve had 
fixed on the celebrity next to be dealt with 
he became obsessed by that one subject. For 
the next few days he was practically inaccessi- 
ble. Volume after volume had to be ransacked ; 
library after library searched for the necessary 
information. In addition, there were endless 
people to be interviewed, and, finally, the most 
searching investigations to be gone through in 
order to properly test the value of what had 
been acquired from the various sources. When 
this had been done the rest was easy — generally 
a matter of a few hours only. Primarily, he 
wrote out a sketch of the essay himself. Then, 
as his handwriting was extremely difficult to 
read, he dictated to his secretary. This, we 
understand from another secretary, Monsieur 
Jules Levallois, was not altogether child's play 
for the person dictated to, as the phrases were 
poured out with a rapidity extremely difficult 
to keep pace with. That living persons whose 
personalities were unveiled in these "Causeries 
du Lundi" frequently felt the public analysis 
to be little short of an unpardonable offence, 
Monsieur Levallois does not deny. Sainte 
Beuve had the critical faculty sharpened to an 
almost abnormal extent. 

His personal life, meanwhile, was simple 
enough, being given up to and engrossed by the 
absorbing passion for literature. For years he 
lived in his little house in the Rue Montpar- 
nasse — almost, M. Levallois adds, in the one 
room where all his work was done. His door 
was never opened to friends until past four 
o'clock in the afternoon, except on Sundays, 
which was Sainte Beuve's great day of social 


By Malcolm Chandler. 


I wanted a l)c)c)k-})latc. Its jjosscssion gives 
such a feeling of su])eriority over those ordinary 
mortals who have to scratch their name in 
their books with j)en and ink. On looking up 
the m.atter I found that most peo])le used a 
family-coat-of-arms with a motto in Latin or 
French. But I had no coat-of-arms, neither had 
I the money to buy one, and anyway they are 
rather senseless things. Plow much better a 
good design, nicely engraved, would be ; but en- 
graving is expensive, so I turned to photography. 

In No. I, photography is used merely as a 
means of reproduction. The design was drawn 
on a large scale and then photographed. It is 
better to draw the design much larger than 
the phot(jgraph is to be, in order to eliminate 
as many imperfections as possible ; it is also of 
course, better to use a developer, which will 
give a great deal of contrast as : — 

Water 200 parts. 

Sod. Sulphite (dry) 6 parts. 

Hyrdochinon 2 parts. 

Pot. Bromide i part. 

Pot. Carbonate 14 parts. 

In No. 2, the design is a 
photograph taken by gas and 
day-light combined. The 
photograph was first proper- 
ly trimmed, and then mount- 
ed on white cardboard giving 
a white margin of about one 
thirty-second of an inch. 
This, in turn, was mounted 

on a stiff l)lack card and 
the lettering was done with 
white ink. It was then 
photographed in the same 
manner as No. i. 

If the book-plates are 
pnnted on a black and 
white j)rinting paper, such 
as Veiox, and then neatly 
trimmed and pasted on- 
the inside of the cover of 
each book, you may look 
over the heads of those 
who have simply inherited 
— Western Camera Notes. 

Mr. Chandler's suggestion is 
most promising. The Book- 
Lover readers are invited to 
send us the results of their 
experiments, along this or 
other lines, which have not 
heretofore been pubhshed. 

MucH RccdiNj 
M a kot H 01 Tu II (n N 

No. 1. 

No. 2. 

Book-plate Designed by A. De Riquer, Barcelona. 





c/fUrtai ^r^^o 




Emperor Wilhelm's Book-plate. 

Copyright, 1902, Curtis Bell. 




Copyright, 1902, hy Byron. Courtesy Town and Country. 



By MaLriaLn E. Stockton. 

As this— "The Captain's Toil-Gate "—is the 
last of the works of Frank R. vStockton that 
will be given to the public, it is fitting that it 
be accompanied by some account of the man 
whose bright spirit illumined them all. It is 
proper, also, that something be said of the 
stories themselves; of the circumstances in 
which they were 
written, the influences 
that determined their 
direction, and the 
history of their evolu- 
tion. It seems appro- 
priate that this should 
be done by the one who 
knew him best ; the one 
who lived with him 
through a long and 
beautiful life; the one 
who walked hand in 
hand with him along 
the whole of a wonder- 
ful road of ever-chang- 
ing scenes : now through 
forests peopled with 
fairies and dryads, 
griffins and wizards ; 
now skirting the edges 
of an ocean with its 
strange monsters and 
remarkable shipwrecks ; 
now on the beaten track 
of European tourists, 
sharing their novel ad- 
ventures and amused 
by their mistakes ; now 
resting in lovely gardens 
imbued with human 
interest ; now helping 
the young to make 
happy homes for them- 
selves; now sympathiz- 
ing with the old as they 

look longingly toward a heavenly home; and, 
oftenest, perhaps, watching girls and young 
men as they were trying to work out the 
j)roblems of their lives. All this, and much 
more, crowded the busy years until the Angel 
of Death stood in the path; and the journey 
was ended. 

Francis Richard Stockton, born in Philadel- 
phia in 1834, was, on his father's side, of jmrely 

* Abridged from " The Captain's Toll-Gate," by per- 
mission of D Appleton & Co. 

Copyright, 1903, by D. Appleton ct Co 

English ancestry; on his mother's side, there 
was a mixture of English, French, and Irish. 
When he began to write stories these three 
nationalities were combined in them: the pe- 
culiar kind of inventiveness of the French; 
the point of view, and the humor that we find 
in the old English humorists ; and the capacity 

of the Irish for comical 

Soon after arriving in 
this coimtry the eldest 
son of the first Ameri- 
can Stockton settled in 
Princeton, N. J., and 
founded that branch of 
the family; while the 
father, with the other 
sons settled in Burling- 
ton County, in the same 
State, and founded the 
Burlington branch of 
the family, from which 
Frank R. vStockton was 
descended. On the 
female side he was de- 
scended from the Gardi- 
ners, also of New Jersey. 
His was a family with 
literary proclivities. 
His father was widely 
known for his religious 
writings, mostly of a 
polemical character, 
which had a powerful 
influence in the denom- 
ination to which he be- 
longed. His half- 
brother (much older 
than Frank) was a 
preacher of great elo- 
quence, famous a gen- 
eration ago as a pulpit 

his brother John, two 
to the age to begin life 

When Frank and 

years younger, came 

for themselves, they both showed sucli decided 
artistic genius that it was thought best to start 
them in that direction, and to have them 
taught engraving; an art then held in high 
esteem. Frank chose wo(-)d, and John steel en- 
graving. V>oi\\ did good work, but their hearts 
were not in it, and, as soon as opportunity 
offered, they abandoned engraving. John went 
into journalism; became editorially connected 



with prominent nows})apcrs ; and had won a 
foremost place in his chosen profession ; when 
he was cut off by death at a comparatively 
early age. 

Frank chose literature, lie had, while in 
the engraving business, written a number of 
fairy tales, some of which had been published 
in juvenile magazines; also a few short stories, 
and quite an ambitious long story, which was 
published in a prominent magazine. He was 
then sufficiently well known as a writer to ob- 
tain without difficulty a place on the staff of 
Hearth and Home, a weekly New York paper, 
owned by Orange Judd, and conducted by Ed- 
ward Eggleston. Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge had 
charge of the juvenile department, and Frank 

work. By this time he had written and pub- 
lished enough to feel justified in taking, what 
seemed to his friends, a bold, and even rasli, 
step, because so few writers then lived solely 
by the pen. He was never very strong physi- 
callv; he felt himself unable to do his editorial 
work, and at the same tim.e write out the fancies 
and stories with which his mind was full. This 
venture proved to be the wisest thing for him ; 
and from that time his life was, in great part, 
in his books; tmd he gave to the world the 
novels and stories which bear his name. 

I have mientioned his fairy stories. Having 
been a great lover of fairy lore when a child, 
he naturally fell into this form of story writing 
as soon as he was old enough to put a story 



Copyright, 190.3, by D. Appleton <f- Co. 

From "Captain's Toll Gate." 

went on the paper as her assistant. Not long 
after Scribner's Monthly was started by Charles 
Scribner (the elder), in conjunction with Ros- 
well Smith, and J. G. Holland. Later Mr. 
Smith and his associates formed The Century 
Company; and with this company Mr. Stock- 
ton was connected for many years : first on the 
Century Magazine, which succeeded Scribner's 
Monthly, and afterward on St. Nicholas, as 
assistant to Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, and, still 
later, when he decided to give up editorial work, 
as a constant contributor. After a few years 
he resigned his position in the company with 
which he had been so pleasantly associated in 
order to devote himself exclusively to his own 

together. He invented a goodly number; and 
among them the Ting-a-Ling stories, which were 
read aloud in a boys' literary circle, and meeting 
their hearty approval, were subsequently pub- 
lished in The Riverside Magazine, a handsome 
and popular juvenile of that period ; and, much 
later, were issued by Hurd & Houghton in a 
very pretty volume. In regard to these, he 
wrote long afterward as follows: 

"I was very young when I determined to write 
some fairy tales because my mind was full of them. 
I set to work, and in course of time produced sev- 
eral which were printed. These were constructed 
according to my own ideas. I caused the fanciful 
creatures who inhabited the world of fairy-land to 



act, as far as possible for them to do so, as if they 
were inhabitants of the real world. I did not dis- 
pense with monsters and enchanters, or talking 
beasts and birds, but I obliged these creatures to 
infuse into their extraordinary actions a certain 
leaven of common sense." 

It was about this time, while very young, 
that he and his brother became ambitious to 
write stories, poems, and essays for the world 
at large. They sent their effusions to various 
periodicals, with the result common to ambi- 
tious youths: all were returned. They de- 
cided at last that editors did not know a good 
thing when they saw it, and hit upon a brilliant 
scheme to prove their own judgment. One of 
them selected an extract from " Paradise Re- 

great a number as falls to the lot of most be- 

The Ting-a-Ling tales proved so popular 
that Mr. Stockton followed them at intervals 
with long and sliort stories for the young which 
appeared in varioiis juvenile publications, and 
were afterward published in book form — 
" Roundabout Rambles,""" Tales Out of School," 
"A Jolly Fellowship," " Personally Conducted," 
"The Story of Viteau," "The Floating Prince," 
and others. Some years later, after he had be- 
gun to write for older readers, he wrote a series 
of stories for St. NicJiolas, ostensibly for chil- 
dren, but really intended for adults. Children 
liked the stories, but the deeper meaning under- 
lying them all was beyond the grasp of a 

Copyright, 11903, by D. Applelon & Co. From "Captain's Toll Gate.' 

gained" fas being not so well known as " Para- 
dise Lost"), and sent it to an editor, with the 
boy's own name appended, expecting to have 
it returned with some of the usual disparaging 
remarks, which they would greatlv enjoy. But 
they were disappointed. The editor printed it 
in his paper, thereby proving that he did know 
a good thing if he did not know his Milton. 
Mr. Stockton was fond of telling this story, 
and it may have given rise to a report, ex- 
tensively circukited, that he tried to gain ad- 
mittance to periodicals for many years before 
he succeeded. This is not true. Some rebuffs 
he had, of course — some with things which 
afterward ])roved great successes — but not as 

child's mind. These stories Mr. Stockton took 
xevy great pleasure in writing, and always re- 
garded them as some of his best work, and 
was gratified when his critics wrote of them in 
that way. They have become famous, and 
have been translated into several languages, 
notably "Old Pipes and the Dryad," "The 
Bee Man of Ome," and "The Griffin and the 
Minor Canon." This last story was suggested 
by Chester Cathedral, and he wrote it in that 
venerable city. The several tales were finally 
collected into a volume under the title: "The 
Bee Man of Orne and Other Stories," which is 
included in the complete edition of his novels 
and stories. During the whole of his literary 



career Mr. Stockton was an occasional con- 
tributor of short stories and essays to The 
Youth's Companion. 

Mr. Stockton considered his career as an 
editor of great advantage to him as an author. 
In an autobiographical paper he writes : " Long- 
continued reading of manuscripts submitted for 
publication which are almost good enough to 
use, and yet not quite up to the standard of 
the magazine, can not but be of great service 
to any one who proposes a literary career. 
Bad work shows us what we ought to avoid, 
but most of us know, or think we know, what 
that is. Fine literary work we get outside the 
editorial room. But the great mass of literary 
material which is almost good enough to print 
is seen only by the editorial reader, and its 
lesson is lost upon him in a great degree unless 
he is, or intends to be, a literary worker." 

The first house in which we set up our own 
household goods stood in Nutley, N. J. We 
had with us an elderly attache of the Stockton 
family as maid-of -all-work; and to relieve her 
of some of her duties I went into New York, 
and procured from an orphans' home a girl 
whom Mr. Stockton described as "a middle- 
sized orphan." She was about fourteen years 
old, and proved to be a very peculiar individ- 
ual, with strong characteristics which so ap- 
pealed to Mr. Stockton's sense of humor that 
he liked to talk with her and draw out her 
opinions of things in general, and especially of 
the books she had read. Her spare time was 
devoted to reading books, mostly of the blood 
curdling variety; and she read them to herself 
aloud in the kitchen in a very disjointed 
fashion, which was at first amusing, a-nd then 
irritating. We never knew her real name, nor 
did the people at the orphanage. She had 
three or four very romantic ones she had bor- 
rowed from novels while she was with us, for 
she was very sentimental. 

Mr. Stockton bestowed upon her the name of 
Pomona, which is now a household word in 
myriads of homes. This extraordinary girl, and 
some household experiences, induced Mr. Stock- 
ton to write a paper for Scrihner's Monthly 
which he called "Rudder Grange." This one 
paper was all he intended to write, but it at- 
tracted immediate attention, was extensively 
noticed, and much talked about. The editor 
of the magazine received so many letters asking 
for another paper that Mr. Stockton wrote the 
second one ; and as there was still a clamor for 
more, he, after a little time, wrote others of the 
series. Some time later they were collected in 
a book. For those interested in Pomona I will 
add, that while the girl was an actual personage. 

with all the characteristics given to her by her 
chronicler, the woman Pomona was a develop- 
ment in Mr. Stockton's mind of the girl as he 
imagined she would become, for the original 
passed out of our lives while still a girl. 

"Rudder Grange" was Mr. Stockton's first 
book for adult readers, and a good deal of 
comment has been made upon the fact that he 
had reached middle life when it was published. 
His biographers and critics assume that he 
was utterly unknown at that time, and that he 
suddenly jumped into favor, and they naturally 
draw the inference that he had until then vainly 
attempted to get before the public. This is all 
a misapprehension of the facts. It will be 
seen from what I have previously stated, that 
at this time he was already well known as a 
juvenile writer, and not only had no difficulty 
in getting his articles jjrinted, but editors and 
publishers were asking him for stories. He 
did, however, experience difficulties in getting 
the collected papers of "Rudder Grange" pub- 
lished in book form. I will quote his own ac- • 
count, which is interesting as showing how 
slow he was to appreciate the fact that the 
public would gladly accept the writings of a 
humorist : 

"The discovery that humorous compositions 
could be used in journals other than those termed 
comic marked a new era in my work. Periodicals 
especially devoted to wit and humor were very 
scarce in those days, and as this sort of writing 
came naturally to me, it was difficult, until the 
adv^ent of Puck, to find a medium of publication 
for writings of this nature. I contributed a good 
deal to this paper, but it was only partly satisfac- 
tory, for articles which make up a comic paper 
must be terse and short, and I wanted to write 
humorous tales which should be as long as ordinary 
magazine stories. I had good reason for my opin- 
ion of the gravity of the situation, for the editor of 
a prominent magazine declined a humorous story 
(afterward very popular) which I had sent him on 
the ground that the traditions of magazines for- 
bade the publication of stories strictly humorous. 
Therefore, when I found an editor at last who 
actually wished me to write humorous stories, I was 
truly rejoiced. My first venture in this line was 
'Rudder Grange.' And, after all, I had difficulty 
in getting the series published in book form. Two 
publishers would have nothing to do with them, 
assuring me that although the papers were well 
enough for a magazine, a thing of ephemeral 
nature, the book-reading public would not care for 
them. The third publisher to whom I applied 
issued the work, and found the venture satisfac- 

The book-reading public cared so much for 
this book that it would not remain satisfied 
with it alone. Again and again it demanded 


of the author more about Pomona, Euphemia, traordinary might be the work in hand, the 

and Jonas. Hence "The Rudder Grangers machine to accomplish the end was made on 

Abroad" and " Pomona's Travels." strictly scientific principles, to accomplish 

The most famous of Mr. Stockton's stories, that exact piece of work. It would seem that 
"The Lady or the Tiger?" was written to be if he had not been an inventor of plots he 
read before a literary society of which he was might have been an inventor of instruments. 
a member. It caused such an interesting dis- This idea is sustained by the fact that he 
cussion in the society that he published it in had been a wood-engraver only a short time 
the Century Magazine. It had no especial an- when he invented and patented a double 
noimcement there, nor was it heralded in any graver which cuts two parallel lines at the 
way, but it took the public by storm, and sur- same time. It is somewhat strange that more 
prised both the editor and the author. All the than one of these extraordinary machines 
world must love a puzzle, for in an amazingly has since been exploited by scientists and ex- 
short time the little story had made the circuit plorers, without the least suspicion on their 
of the world. Debating societies everyw^here part that the enterprising romancer had thought 
seized upon it as a topic ; it was translated into of them first. Notable among these may be 
nearly all languages ; society people discussed named the idea of going to the north pole under 
it at their dinners; plainer people argued it at the ice, the one that the centre of the earth 
their firesides; numerous letters were sent to is an immense crystal ("Great Stone of Sar- 
nearly every periodical in the country; and dis"), and the attempt to manufacture a gun 
public readers were expounding it to their similar to the Peace Compeller in "The Great 
audiences. It interested heathen and Christian War Syndicate." 

alike; for an English friend told Mr. Stockton In all of Mr. Stockton's novels there were 

that in India he had heard a group of Hindoo characters taken from real persons who per- 

men gravely debating the problem. Of course, haps would not recognize themselves in the 

a mass of letters came pouring in upon the peculiar circumstances in which he placed 

author. them. In the crowd of purely imaginative be- 

A singular thing about this story has been ings one could easily recognize certain types 

the revival of interest in it that has occurred modified and altered. In "The Casting away 

from time to time. Although written many of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine " he introduced 

years ago, it seems still to excite the interest two delightful old ladies whom he knew, and 

of a younger generation ; for, after an interval who were never surprised at anything that 

of silence on the subject of greater or less dura- might happen. Whatever emergency arose, 

tion, suddenly, without apparent cause, numer- they took it as a matter of course, and prepared 

ous letters in relation to it will appear on the to meet it. Mr. Stockton amused himself at 

author's table, and "solutions" will be printed their expense by writing this story. He was 

in the newspapers. This ebb and flow has con- not at first interested in the Dusantes, and had 

tinued up to the present time. Mr. Stockton no intention of ever saying anything further 

made no attempt to answer the question he had about them. When there was a demand for 

raised. knowledge of the Dusantes Mr. Stockton did 

We both spent much time in the South at not heed it. He was opposed to writing sequels, 
different periods. The dramatic and uncon- But when an author of distinction, whose work 
sciously humorous side of the negroes pleased and friendship he highly valued, wrote to him 
his fancy. He walked and talked with them, that if he did not write something about the 
saw them in their homes, at their "meetin's," Dusantes, and what they said when they found 
and in the fields. He has drawn with an the board money in the ginger jar, he would 
affectionate hand the genial, companionable do it himself, Mr. Stockton set himself to writ- 
Southern negro as he is — or rather as he was — ing "The Dusantes." 

for this type is rapidly passing away. Soon Some of the Southern stories were written 
there will be no more of tliese "old-time in Virginia, and, now and then, a short story 
darkies." They would be by the world forgot elsewhere, as suggested by the locality, but the 
had they not been embalmed in literature by most of his work was done under his own roof- 
Mr. Stockton, and the best Southern writers. tree. 

There is one other notable characteristic that I have mentioned Nutley, which lies in New 

should be referred to in writing of Mr. Stock- Jersey, near New York. His dwelling there was 

ton's stories — the machines and appliances he a pretty little cottage, and here "Rudder 

invented as parts of them. They are very Grange" was written. It was a rented place, 

numerous and ingenious. No matter how ex- The next home we owned. It stood at a greater 


distance from New York, at the place called "with all modern improvements" — an unusual 
Convent, half-way between Madison and Morris- combination. It lies near the historic old town 
town, in New Jersey. Here we lived a number of Charles Town, in West Virginia, near Har- 
of years after Mr. Stockton gave up editorial per's Ferry. Claymont is itself an historic 
work; and here the greater number of his tales place. The land was first owned by "the 
were written. ^ Father of his Country." This great personage 

Mr. Stockton dictated his stories to a stenog- designed the house, with its main building, two 
rapher. His favorite spot for this in summer cottages (or lodges), and courtyards, for his 
was a grove of large fir-trees near the house, nephew Bushrod, to whom he had given the 
Here, in warm weather, he would lie in a ham- land. Through the wooded park runs the old 
mock. His secretary would be near, with her road, now grass grown, over which Braddock 
writing materials, and a book of her choosing, marched to his celebrated "defeat," guided by 
The book was for her own reading while Mr. the youthful George Washington, who had sur- 
Stockton was "thinking." It annoyed him to veyed the whole region for Lord Fairfax. Dur- 
know that he was being "waited for." He ing the Civil War the place twice escaped de- 
would think out pages of incidents, and scenes, struction because it had once been the property 
and even whole conversations, before he began of Washington. 

to dictate. After all had been arranged in his At Claymont several short stories were writ- 
mind he dictated rapidly; but there often were ten. "John Gayther's Garden" was prepared 
long pauses, when the secretary could do a for publication here by connecting stories pre- 
good deal of reading. In cold weather he had viously jiublished into a series, told in a garden, 
the secretary and an easy chair in the study — and suggested by the one at Claymont. John 
a room he had built according to his own fancy. Gayther, however, was an invention. " Kate 
A fire of blazing logs added a glow to his fancies. Bonnet" and " The Captain's Toil-Gate" were 

I am now nearing the close of a life which both written at Claymont. 
had had its trials and disapfjointments, its Mr. Stockton was permitted to enjoy this 

struggles with weak health and with unsatisfy- beautiful place only three years. They were 

ing labor. But these mostly came in the earlier years of such rare pleasure, however, that we 

years, and were met with courage, an ever can rejoice that he had so much joy crowded 

fresh-springing hope, and a buoyant spirit that into so short a space of his life, and that he had 

would not be intimidated. On the whole, as it at its close. Truly life was never sweeter to 

one looks back through the long vista, much him than at its end, and the world was never 

more of good than of evil fell to his lot. His brighter to him than when he shut his eyes 

life had been full of interesting experiences, upon it. He was returning from a winter in 

and one of, perhaps, untisual happiness. At New York to his beloved Claymont, in good 

the last there came to pass the fulfilment of a health, and full of plans for the summer and 

dream in which he had long indulged. He be- for his garden, when he was taken suddenly ill 

came the possessor of a beautiful estate con- in Washington, and died three days later, on 

taining what he most desired, and with sur- April 20, 1902, a few weeks after "Kate Bon- 

roundings and associations dear to his heart. net" was published in book form. 

He had enjoyed The Holt, his New Jersey Mr. Stockton was the most lovable of men. 

home, and was much interested in improving He shed happiness all around him, not from 

it. His neighbors and friends there were valued conscious effort but out of his own bountiful 

companions. But in his heart there had always and loving nature. His tender heart sympa- 

been a longing for a home, not suburban — a thized with the sad and unfortunate, but he 

place in the real country, and with more land, never allowed sadness to be near, if it were pos- 

Finally, the time came when he felt that he sible to prevent it. He hated mourning and 

could gratify this longing. He liked the Vir- gloom. They seemed to paralyze him mentally 

ginia climate, and decided to look for a place until his bright spirit had again asserted itself, 

somewhere in that State, not far from the city and he had recovered his balance. He usually 

of Washington. After a rather prolonged looked either upon the best, or the humorous 

search, we one day lighted upon Claymont, in side of life. He won the love of every one who 

the Shenandoah Valley. It won our hearts, knew him — even that of readers who did not 

and ended our search. It had absolutely every- know him personally, as many letters testify, 

thing that Mr. Stockton coveted. He bought To his friends his loss is irreparable, for never 

it at once, and we moved into it as speedily as again will they find his equal in such charming 

possible. qualities of head and heart. 
Claymont is a handsome colonial residence, Claymont, May 15, 1903. 



By George CaLry Eggleaton. 

It was in the year 1858 that I had my first A Httle later he left my editorial staff to be- 
letter from Mr. Stockton. The occasion was an come Mrs. Dodge's assistant upon St. Nicholas. 
unimportant one, but it involved what had But we remained, he and I, close and intimate 
seemed to him an unkindness on my part to friends to the end, and it was scarcely more than 
an entirely innocent and deserving person, a week ago that he sat here in the Authors Club 
The unkindness was not intended, and I had and talked to me of his literary plans and pur- 
supposed the victim of it to be a person quite poses — plans and purposes that are unhappily 
other than the actual sufTerer. Mr. Stockton baffled and defeated by his death. I say 
understood this, but in the generosity of his "unhappily" with a careful selection of the 
soul he wrote asking me to make atonement — term. For those plans and purposes were of 
and of course I made it. At that precise time a very masterful kind, and had Mr. Stockton 
I began to know and love Frank R. Stockton lived to carry them out their value to the 
as a man of the utmost honesty, the most gen- world would have been incalculable, 
erous nature, and the kindliest impulses possi- For with all his lightness of touch Mr. Stock- 
ble. His act in writing to me — a complete ton was a profound scholar and a tireless student 
stranger — to ask reparation, showed also that of history and of humanity. From the begin- 
courage which was an essential part of his ning of his career to its end the dominant fact 
character to the end. was his own growth. He was just getting 

The first personal contact I had with him ready for his greatest work when death inter- 
was in the early seventies, when my brother posed to forbid. How often that catastrophe 
and I had undertaken the task of dragging comes at the critical moment! How often 
the weekly periodical Hearth and Home out of it happens that the educational work of a 
the slough of despond into which it had fallen, lifetime is denied its fruition by untimely 
Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge — a woman honored death! 

wherever juvenile literature exercises its edu- Curiously enough I advanced this idea to Mr. 

cational influence — was an associate editor, Stockton in our last interview here in the 

having special charge of the children's depart- Authors Club. With that exceeding modesty 

ment. During an unusual stress of work she which was one of the dominant characteristics 

asked Mr. Stockton to come to her assistance, of his nature, he answered : 

and he did so. For many moons thereafter he "What does it matter, after all? If you or 

and I sat in the same office and worked to- I have a thought likely to be valuable to the 

gether upon the difficult task set us to solve, world and are forbidden by death or other ad- 

Every day we went out together for luncheon, verse circumstances to set it forth, there is 

but one day I told him I could not go because sure to be some other fellow who will think the 

I had somehow forgotten to prepare the column thought and express it." 

of humorous bits which our publishers were Except for good-bys those were the last 

under contract obligation to print upon the words spoken to me by Frank R. Stockton, 

last page in aid of the advertisements there, I remember that while I was in my bath 

and we were to go to press that night. one Thursday morning a thought occurred to 

"Oh, never mind that," said Mr. Stockton, me which suggested a Stocktonesque story. On 

" If it's only a column of conundrums and the evening of that day I sat with Stockton 

humor that you want I'll write it when we and Alexander Black at the Authors Club and 

come back from our mutton and potatoes." told Stockton of the idea which it seemed to me 

And he did. He sat down at his desk and he might work, as I could not, into an effective 

wrote about the most satisfactory column of story. When I had completely expounded my 

humorous bits that I ever saw printed any- thought Mr. Stockton turned to me and said: 

where, and they were all original. " I'm glad you like that idea, because I have 

Mr. Stockton had already developed his re- just used it in a story, the first installment of 

markable intellectual capacity of looking cross- which will appear in this week's Illustrated 

eyed at things which he could look at straight American." 

if necessary. He had cultivated to perfection Telepathy? No. I had not thought of the 

that queer intellectual squint which throughout thing till that morning, and Stockton's story 

his life enabled him to expose the humorous was already in type. It was only that the idea 

side of everything human. happened to be a good one and that he had 



seized upon it in advance of its occurrence to 

A little later Alexander Black wrote, asking 
my permission to write of the incident in The 
Critic. With my permission he did so, and 
almost immediately there came to me a letter 
from a publisher hungry for novelties, asking 
me if Mr. Stockton and I would not collaborate 
in the production of a book that should set forth 
our "psychological experiences," with our com- 
ments and explanations. I sent the letter to 
Mr. Stockton with this indorsement: "I never 
had a psychological experience in my life." He 
returned it with the comment: " Neither did I, 
and I shouldn't know what to do with a thing 
of that sort if I should run up against it. Tell 
the publisher to write the book himself. Ob- 
viously he has more imagination than either of 
us can pretend to possess." 

The story upon which Mr. Stockton's fame 
was first builded — "The Lady or the Tiger?" — 
very nearly ruined the author by its excellence 
and its extraordinary popularity. Some months 
later he exploited this experience in the story 
entitled" His Wife's Deceased Sister." But in 
intimate conversation Mr. Stockton assured me 
that "The Lady or the Tiger?" had well nigh 
ruined his market for his literary wares. 

"After I had written that story," he said, 
"all the editors of all the periodicals wrote 
asking me to furnish them with short stories. 
Of course I had a quiver full, and as these 
people seemed anxious for them I thought that 
my harvest time had come. So I proceeded 
to write with all my might. But presently the 
stories began coming back to me with editorial 
regrets that they did not seem to be equal to 
"The Lady or the Tiger?" In other words I 
found that I had ruined my own market by 
furnishing one story which I could not quite 
live up to. I succeeded after a while in selling 
the rejected stories here, there, and everywhere, 
but the experience was annoying. Among the 
rejected stories were "Plain Fishing," "The 
Reversible Landscape," and others. I wrote 
"His Wife's Deceased Sister" in the bitterness 
of my soul at that period as a protest against 
the assumption that when a man does his very 
best he places himself under an obligation to 
do as well on every succeeding occasion or 
starve to death for lack of ability to do so." 

Mr. Stockton's work was all wholesome, not 
so much because he willed it to be so as because 
he could not help it. He was himself clean 
and wholesome in his mind and soul. He 
wrote wholesomely because he couldn't write 
in any other way. He looked at life with honest 
eyes and it looked back at him in precisely the 

same way. His writings were altogether good 
and for good. He felt no occasion to deal with 
morbidity in any of its aspects or phases. He 
not only wrote no line that in dying he could 
regret, but he wrote no line which any father 
might not confidently recommend his daughter 
of fifteen or sixteen to read. In brief, Frank R. 
Stockton was altogether the sanest, wholesom- 
est, and most healthfully inspiring writer of 
our time. Not a line of his need be withheld, 
not a book of his claims a place upon the top 
shelf, out of the reach of the young and the 

We of the Authors Club gave him a reception 
during the last winter, at which much that is 
best in American intellect and character was 
assembled to do him honor. Later we held a 
watch-night meeting on the occasion of the 
outgoing of the old and the incoming of the 
new year. We had a mock programme, under 
the terms of which each man was to tell why 
he was not so famous as he ought to be or why 
some other fellow was more famous than he 
ought to be. In the course of it all Mr. Stock- 
ton was called upon, quite as a matter of course. 
He reported that he was quite as famous as he 
thought himself entitled to be, and he gave a 
reason for this conviction. Referring to his 
long drudgery upon magazines and newspapers 
and his final breaking loose into literature, he 
recited the following lines as illustrative of his 
own position: 

"There was an old monk of Siberia 

Whose life it grew drearier and drearier, 

Till he broke from his cell 

With a hell of a yell 

And eloped with the Mother Superior." 

That is precisely what Frank R. Stockton 
did. For many years he drudged as an assist- 
ant editor upon periodical publications. It was 

not till "with a h of a yell" he "broke 

from his cell and eloped with the Mother 
Superior" that he came into his own. That is 
to say, Frank R. Stockton's genius was never 
recognized till he ceased to edit other people's 
productions and began writing on his own 

Two or three days later a curious thing oc- 
curred. Mr. Stockton came to me with a long 
and melancholy face and asked : 

' ' What did you understand me to mean by 
the verses I recited here the other night?" 

"Why, there was only one interpretation 
possible," I replied. "You meant that for a 
space you made wages by editing other people's 
matter, and that at last you broke your bonds 
and went to making literature on your own 



"Well," he answered with his droll drawl, 
"that is what I think I meant. But perhaps 
others know better. That is what I meant to 
mean anyhow, but perhaps I was wrong. You 
see one is so often wrong in these matters con- 
cerning himself. To-day in a bisexual club 
Mrs. Stockton and I were greeted with the 
exclamation: 'Why, I never knew that your 
marriage was a runaway one ! How romantic ! ' 
And I don't think I succeeded in disabusing 
the lady's mind of the idea that my jocular 
verses were autobiographical material." 

Mr. Stockton's juvenility was always in evi- 
dence. However age might creep upon him 
"the heart was young " always. One of the very 
last things he ever said to me was that he was 
planning a rollicking boys' book which should 
make all the boys and all the girls glad. With 
a premonition perhaps of the approaching end 
he outlined the story to me, and asked me to 
finish it in the event of his death before it 
should be done. Of course I could have done 
nothing of the kind. 

But equally, of course, I sympathize with 
that love of boyhood and girlhood to which 
he meant this work to minister. He loved 
boys and girls intensely. He loved men and 
women as his fellow-beings still more intensely. 
In all that he wrote he had these loves always 
in mind. 

In brief, his was a typically sound mind. 
All that he thought was healthful and helpful. 
All that he intended was good, and all that he 
wrote ministered to the higher life of cleanli- 
ness and sweet morality. 

Mr. Stockton was never a humorist in the 
ordinary sense of the term. He never sacri- 
ficed the truth or mocked at serious realities of 
life for the sake of a jest, as most humorists do 
in aid of their jests. He never took a flippant 
view of any sacred thing, and he never made 
sport of any human emotion that had a heart- 
beat behind it. With many things in life he 
was amused. But he never amused himself by 
ridiculing anything or any thought that touched 
a human heart anywhere on earth. 

He had wit, too, as well as humor, wit as 
keen as any that made the latter part of the 
eighteenth century famous. As an example I 
may be permitted to recite a single story. The 
late William Carey, who was connected with 
the Century Company, had a monogram which 
he cleverly made, and he used it within his 
office instead of writing out his name. Now 
and then he so far forgot himself as to use it 
in signing his letters outside the office. He 
was sensitive about the spelling of his name, 
"Carey," and not "Cary." Once he wrote to 

Mr. Stockton and forgetfully signed his mono- 
gram. Stockton replied, spelling his friend's 
name " Cary " instead of "Carey." Will Carey 
at once sent him a playful protest, whereupon 
Mr. Stockton wrote these lines: 

' ' Young men who use as signatures 

Plain double yous and sees 
Should not expect that other folks 

Will spell their names with ease." 

Alas, this most gentlemanly of gentlemen, 
this wittiest of gentle wits, this rarest of humor- 
ists who never made fun of anybody or mocked 
at any sincerity, is gone from us forever! 

His death is a circumstance the more sad- 
dening for the reason that his life was so great 
a ministry of joy. — A^. Y. Times. 


By Thos. H. Dickinson. 

We may not know the transcendent height 
That is reached by the muse's wings. 

Content if, while the bird is out of sight, 
We may listen while he sings. 

A Future for Poets. 

The poverty of the poet who would live by 
his muse is proverbial, but a New Jersey bard 
has discovered a way to wing his Pegasus 
profitably. He has ' ' hired out " as a newspaper 
reporter, and gives rein to the songs which well 
up in his poem in the manner indicated by the 
following news item which we have clipped 
from the New York World: 



MoRRiSTOWN, N. J., March 27. — Susie Hulbert, 
young and fair, with hazel eyes and golden hair, 
rosebud mouth and dimpled cheek, her whole ap- 
pearance sweet and meek, has left the town with 
young Frank Dey, a youth of aspirations high, 
but barely old enough to wed; so village gossips 
all have said. 

She's sweet sixteen, he twenty-one, and now 
they're dodging pa and gun; for yester-night they 
ran away, riding on the dapple gray. A church 
affair was in full swing, and Frank said, " 'Tis the 
very thing; we'll shake the town this very night, 
and give the old folk quite a fright." 

So off they went upon the nag which papa used 
with plough and drag, and that's the reason he's 
so mad — it's knocked him out of farm-work bad. 
Susie's grandmamma says she'll all forgive if 
they'll return and with her live. She's sent that 
word to all near by, but up to date has no reply 
from either Sue or Mr. Dey. 



All but half a century has elapsed since Bret singular melancholy to his pale Southern face. 
Harte, on the death of his father and at the Nevertheless he greeted me with more than 
age of seventeen, "resolved to go West in quest his usual serene cordiality, and I remembered 
of the adventure and research for which his that he looked up with a half-puzzled, half- 
soul longed." That was in 1856 when San amused expression at the rosy morning sky 
Francisco, whither the budding author came, as he walked a few steps with me down the 
was only seven years old, but was taking its deserted street. I could not help saying that 
first great leap forward into importance. It I was astonished to see him up so early, and 
was in his first joyous struggles in 'Frisco that he admitted that it was a break in his usual 
Bret Harte picked up the extraordinary knowl- habits ; but added, with a smiling significance 
edge of Far West life to which he gave inimi- I afterwards remembered, that it was ' an even 
table expression in his stories. chance if he did it again.' As we neared the 

And yet the Califomian humor and reckless- street corner a man in a buggy drove up im- 

ness which he has made familiar to us had patiently. In spite of the driver's evident 

little place in the city life of those days. The haste my handsome acquaintance got in leis- 

' Frisco newspapers were not the grotesquely urely, and, lifting his glossy hat to me with a 

libelous sheets one imagines them; they were pleasant smile, was driven away. 1 have a 

very sober and serious and respectable. Men very lasting impression of his face and figure 

went to business in black coats and with grave as the buggy disappeared down the empty 

faces. A prize-fighter is said to have com- street. I never saw him again. It was not 

mitted suicide in his cell under the depression until a week later that I knew that an hour 

he suffered during his dull and passionless after he left me that morning he was lying 

trial. An atmosphere of mingled squalor and dead in a little hollow behind the Mission 

poetry breathed over the young city. Rotten Dolores — shot through the heart in a duel for 

wharves and derelict ships mingled with the which he had risen so early, 
newly-rising warehouses. In the original "I recall another incident of that period," 

houses the ceilings were covered by stretched he continues, "equally characteristic, but less 

cloth, on which the scampering rats could be tragic in sequel. I was in the restaurant one 

seen by the sagging of the frail roof under their morning talking to my cousin, when a man 

weight. Over all, "the strong breath of the entered hastily and said something to him in 

sea and the constant onset of the trade winds a hurried whisper. My cousin contracted his 

which helped to disinfect the deposit of dirt eyebrows and uttered a suppressed oath. Then, 

and grime, decay and wreckage, which were with a gesture of warning to the man, he 

stirred up in the later evolutions of the city." crossed the room quietly where a regular 

Decorous as the ordinary life of San Fran- habitue of the restaurant was lazily finishing 

Cisco seemed, it was not long before Bret Harte his breakfast. A large silver coffee-pot with 

began to encounter the originals of his most a stiff wooden handle stood on the table before 

famous characters. Of the many incidents him. My cousin leaned over the guest famil- 

which proved this, I select the following, told iarly, and apparently made some hospitable 

by Bret Harte in his own sketch, entitled inquiry as to his wants. Then — possibly be- 

" Bohemian Days in San Francisco" — a sketch cause my curiosity having been excited I was 

that I fancy has rather fallen out of sight. watching him more intently than the others — • 

He was at that time living at the top of a I saw what probably no one else saw, that he 

house owned by a cousin, the lowest story of deliberately upset the coffee-pot and its con- 

which was a kind of club. In this building tents over the guest's shirt and waistcoat. As 

he had a mysterious fellow-lodger, who was the victim sprang up with an exclamation my 

the hero of the following incident : cousin overwhelmed him with apologies for his 

"One morning, as I was going out to my carelessness, and, with protestations of sorrow 
very early breakfast at a cheap Italian cafe on for the accident, actually insisted on dragging 
Long Wharf, I was surprised to find him also the man upstairs into his own private room, 
descending the staircase. He was scrupulously where he furnished him with a shirt and waist- 
dressed, even at that early hour; but I was coat of his own. The side door had scarcely 
struck by the fact that he was all in black, closed upon them, and I was still lost in wonder 
and his slight figure, buttoned to the throat in at what I had seen, when a man entered from 
a tightly-fitting frock-coat, gave, I fancied, a the street. He was one of the desperate set I 



have already spoken of, and thoroughly well 
known to those present. He cast a glance or 
two round the room, nodded to one or two 
of the guests, and then walked to a side table 
and took up a newspaper. I was conscious 
at once that a singular restraint had come over 
the other guests, a nervous awkwardness that 
at last seemed to make itself known to the 
man himself, who, after an affected yawn or 
two, laid down the paper and w^alked out. 

"'That was a mighty close call,' said one of 
the guests with a sigh of relief. 

"'You bet! And the coffee-pot spill was 
the luckiest kind of accident for Peters,' re- 
marked another. 

"'For both,' added the first speaker; 'for 
Peters was armed, too, and would have seen 
him come in ! ' 

"A word or two explained all. Peters and 
the last comer had quarrelled a day or two 
before, and had separated with the intention 
to 'shoot on sight' — that is, wherever they 
met, a form of duel common to those days. 
The accidental meeting in the restaurant 
would have been the occasion with the usual 
sanguinary consequence, but for the word of 
warning given to my cousin by a passer-by 
who knew that Peters' antagonist was coming 
to the restaurant to look at the papers. Had 
my cousin repeated the warning to Peters him- 
self, he would only have shirked, and so pre- 
cipitated the affray. 

"The ruse of upsetting the coffee-pot, which 
everybody but myself thought an accident, was 
to get him out of the room before the other 
entered. I was too young then to venture to 
intrude upon my cousin's secrets, but two or 
three years afterwards I taxed him with the 
trick, and he admitted it regretfully. I be- 
lieve that a strict interpretation of the code 
would have condemned his act as unsports- 
manlike, if not unfair!" 

The Bookworm. 

The human bookworm drinks from the 
fount of knowledge springing from the brains 
of different authors, according to his or her 
taste, but the insect bookworm bores and eats 
its way through the covers and leaves of 
books according to its discriminating taste. 
As we probe into the life and work of this 
mite of a worm, so rapidly growing extinct, 
we find it an interesting subject. It prefers 
old books having paper leaves and leather 
bindings peculiar to the earlier ages. One 
volume printed in 1726 (an edition of the 
Psalms of David) evidently is the sweetest 

morsel to this worm, as its destructive work 
is more visible than in the other three books, 
bearing the dates of 1740, 1750, 1827. The 
leather and pasteboard coverings are riddled 
through and through with tiny holes. The 
leaves are so closely eaten down that but few 
whole pages remain. Some of the leaves 
look as if they were cut with a sharp instru- 
ment; even the flaxen threads that held the 
leaves together were nibbled at. 

To demonstrate the fact of its special love 
for aged books we took several pieces of news- 
papers, cut the size of the pages of the book 
upon which the bookworm was working, and 
placed them in it alternately. In a few days 
we opened the book to find in every instance 
the little destroyer had crawled past the 
newspaper sheets and made its meal upon the 
time-worn pages of the book. So we were 
convinced that the bookworm is extremely 
particular about the kinds of paper it diets 
upon. It is developed in a tiny ribbed shell, 
about three-eighths of an inch long, similar to 
coverings of other small insects; both ends of 
the shell are sharply pointed. At one end are 
two hairs or feelers; from this end it emerges 
when ready to begin its life work. The 
largest one was five-sixteenths of an inch 
long; the other two are about a quarter of an 
inch in length. Its head is somewhat pointed 
and sharp, necessarily so for its work in 
boring. It resembles a very small maggot, 
but in movement is slower. Exposure to a 
strong light for a minute will kill it. 

The bookworm works systematically ; having 
made its entrance through the leather binding 
of a book by boring a tiny hole from the out- 
side, it makes paths over the inside upon the 
pasteboard by burrowing. These roads are 
perfectly connected and uniform in width, 
for it lies in each one as it bores; ofttimes it 
cuts a path back to where it first entered, thus 
making a double route. When it reaches the 
leaves it works more leisurely, leaving the 
traces of its work behind it, with the crumbs 
of its meals. Its life at longest is but a few 
months. It was thought booklice were the 
parasites of bookworms. We placed worms 
and lice together in a tight enclosure. After 
waiting a few moments we opened the box to 
find the bookworms the sole occupants. This 
tiny little worker requires tender and delicate 
handling; a slight human breath will blow it 
away. It is wonderful the amount of de- 
structive work the bookworm accomplishes 
in its short lifetime. It is properly called 
the rara avis of the insect world. 



By Hn.lkett Lord. 

Three-quarters of a century ago there Hved Httle damaged fruit, he spared nothing for the 

at Barcelona one Don Vincente, a friar of that sake of adding to his treasures. 

Poblet convent whose wealth and above all Towards the middle of the year 1836 tlic 

whose admirable library, the gift of one of the library of an old lawyer, recently deceased, 

last of the Kings of Arragon, was plundered, was sold by auction. Among the works dedi- 

dispersed, and destroyed at the pillage of the cated to the study of the ancient law, of which 

rnonasteries during the regency of Queen Chris- the library consisted, was one which excited 

tine de Bourbon. For the small consolation he all the covetousness of Don Vincente. It was 

could manage to obtain from still handling the unique copy of the "Furs e Ordinacions 

books, Don Vincente set up as a bookseller, fetes per los gloriosos reys de Aragon als reg- 

Though scarcely able to read, he was thoroughly nicols re regne de Valencia," the original edi- 

conversant with the minutiae of old books, and tion, a small folio printed at Valencia in 1482, 

had a specially gifted scent for nosing out the by Lambert Palmert, the first Spanish printer, 

value of a MS. which he had scarcely opened. Don Vincente had mustered all the resources 

He rapidly established a disastrous competition provided by his economies, by sales which he 

with the oldest bookseller in the place, a man hastened to make at reduced prices and even 

generally liked, whose name was Augustin by borrowing ; and was in hopes that the prize 

Paxtot. Don Vincente himself was far from would be knocked down to him. The book 

having so good a reputation; but he had had was started at a low price and the bids were 

the wit, however to secure, at his rival's ex- slowly raised. It seemed for the moment that 

pense, an excellent connection; his store was the book was going for a song when Augustin 

better filled and was better patronized, but Paxtot added fifty reals. Vincente, hoping to 

evil reports were rife concerning him, and it warn off his adversary, went another 150; 

was whispered about that the invaders of the Paxtot bid a further 200. 

convent were not the only persons who had They stood face to face. Paxtot's color was 

pilfered its books. Don Vincente knowing bet- high ; Vincente was quite pale. Bid followed 

ter than those illiterate thieves the value of bid rapidly, sometimes of 100, sometimes of 

these piles of waste paper and heavy folios, had 150 reals. The monk became paler and paler, 

diverted their attention to places where were and Paxtot still redder, as if one absorbed the 

to be found wealth and abundance more suited blood of the other. All at once Vincente 

to their appetites, and, speculating on their raised his bid to 4,000 reals. He was no 

ignorance, had awarded to himself the more longer pale; he turned green. Paxtot, crimson 

precious treasures of the library. as a puppy, shouted out : 4,500 reals ! Vincente 

A singular thing! The unfrocked monk leant against the wall with staring eyes, his 
showed no hurry to part with these treasures, nails digging into his flesh, grinding his teeth 
whose value seems nowadays extremely hypo- and biting his lips. At length, after a terrible 
thetical. Ordinary books and those of small silence, seeing all eyes fixed upon him, with 
value passed readily from his hands; but it parched throat and foaming mouth, he pain- 
was only when he found himself very short of fully murmured 5,000 reals! .... A 
money that he opened even to the wealthiest nervous trembling seized him and had he not 
or best informed amateur his backstore whose been sustained by the wall he would have fallen, 
shelves were laden down with treasurers which It was evident that this was his supreme effort 
would have dazzled the eyes of Nodier, Didot, and that he could go no further. Paxtot had 
Pixerecourt, or above all, the Marquis de but to bid another 100 reals and the precious 
Morante, the celebrated Spanish collector. incunabule was knocked down to him amid 

Did one secure from him, at its weight in the applause of the bystanders, little used to 

gold, one of these volumes treasured with so such combats. 

much care, it would have been thought one Don Vincente drew himself up, livid and 

had deprived him of a "pound of flesh," and distorted. For one moment his eyes lit up 

he even ran after the purchaser sometimes to dart a lightning glance of palid anger 

and offered him back his money in exchange and fierce hatred at his successful rival, then 

for the book. Did he save anything, he im- brusquely jamming down his cowl over his 

mediately profited by it to add to his beloved face he hurried from the auction room, 

collection. Though he lived for days on a Hardly a week had passed since this mem- 


orable contest, when, in the middle of a dark, upon a lofty shelf, in a secluded room, a " Di- 

moonless night, was suddenly heard the terrible rectorium Inquisitorum." Were his eyes at- 

cry of Fire ! which had just burst forth with tracted by the title of the work or by its curious 

fury, after having smoldered for some time, binding! Be that as it may, mounting on a 

in the store of Augustin Paxtot. The unfor- stool, he took down the book. Another, 

tunate man appeared to have been surprised smaller, volume pushed back on the top of the 

in his bed, which had slowly burned under him. other, so as to be hidden, tumbled on his head. 

Had he been asphyxiated by the smoke ? Had and fell, open, on the floor. It was a small 

he been the victim of an assassin? It was folio, the copy of the "Furos de Arago," 

impossible to discover as the body had been printed by Palmart in 1482 ! . . . the copy 

quite charred. A sum of money that he had recently knocked down to the unfortunate 

received on the previous evening was found Paxtot! the copy that Don Vincente himself 

intact. He was generally esteemed, and it had declared to be unique, 

was not known that he had any enemies. This dumb witness sufficed to cause the arrest 

Nevertheless suspicion somehow or other was of the bookseller-monk. The Corregidor, point- 
directed to Don Vincente, whose monkish char- ing to the book with his finger, said to him : 
acter was anything but a recommendation. " How did that book come here ? " 
The bitter contest of which the book purchased " He re-sold it to me," Don Vincente replied, 
by Paxtot had been the occasion, the pallor, afraid to pronounce the name of Paxtot. 
the baleful glances of the monk when he found "Take that man to gaol," said the magis- 
himself out-bidden by his rival, were recalled, trate. 

and the grave fact that the book, purchased He allowed himself, unresisting, to be taken 
at so large a price, which the bookseller's heirs and handcuffed. As soon as he was under 
knowing its value searched for high and low, bolts and bars, justice proceeded to make a de- 
could nowhere be unearthed. When a suspic- tailed inventory of his books. Several valuable 
ion of this kind is once aroused no one knows books were found which had notoriously been 
where it will stop. sold to the person assassinated, notably "The 

Some remembered that there had recently Antiquities of Spain and Africa," with the 
been found in the ditches of the Arsenal scarcely margins covered with annotations by de Bar- 
covered with branches, a cure, poniarded, with nard Adrete, bought from Vincente by the un- 
his purse untouched, and this cure, it was said, fortunate Don Pablo Rafael de N. several days 
had been seen mousing over books, particularly before his death. 

in Don Vincente's store. Others spoke of per- Overwhelmed by so many convincing proofs, 

sons similarly stabbed by evil-doers who had Don Vincente could only plead to the judge 

not robbed them. All were men of attain- impotent denials. It was only after receiving 

ments and some of them habitual clients of the a formal promise that his library should not 

publishers and booksellers of Barcelona. Among be dispersed but preserved in its integrity that 

these was mentioned Don Pablo Rafael de he determined to make a clean breast of it 

N honorary alcade, an alcade mayor and confess the details of the crimes that he had 

and a bailie. Eight were reckoned up; when committed. 

all at once a new crime was announced. The After making on his lips and on his eyes the 

body of a young German litterateur was fished sign of the cross he spoke as follows : "I have 

up in the harbor, riddled with stabs from a promised to tell the truth; I shall tell it. If I 

knife but still retaining his purse. have transgressed it was with a good intention 

Investigations — hitherto to no purpose — had — to endow learning — to preserve treasures im- 

been made in several directions. But the pub- possible to be replaced. Whatever happens to 

lie voice pronounced so strongly against Don ^^ matters but little since it has been promised 

Vmcente that the Corregidor felt it his duty ^^^^ collection shall remain intact ; for it is 

to pay him a domiciliary visit The unlooked- ^^^ -^ ^^ -^^ ^^^ ^^^^1^ f^^ f^^l^s com- 

for arrival of the magistrate did not appear to ^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^j^^ ^^^^^ -^ 

disconcert Don Vincente, who hastened to open ,,rT> .1 • ^ -^ ^r. 4. r u ^.i ^ <- 

all the rooms in his house and placed himself ' To this poor cur6 it was that I sold the first 

at the service of justice to aid its researches. ^^ ^V treasured books, agamst my will, I swear 

He pointed out, with verbose erudition, the dis- it— constramed by hunger; mala suada fames' 

position of his books, the place where his most The Glorious St. John, patron of authors, is my 

valuable were kept, and the Corregidor, finding witness that I did all I could to choke him off. 

nothing suspicious, was retiring rather disap- Then smitten with remorse I ran after him; I 

pointed, when by accident he observed perched said to him ; 



'"Give me back my book; here is your 
money ! ' 

"He refused and I stabbed him. He fell; 
I gave him absolution, and I despatched him. 
I went home hugging my recovered treasure. 
That's how it was!" 

" And is that the way in which you murdered 
your other victims?" 

" By the Holy Virgin and Saints nothing was 
more simple. When a purchaser was deter- 
mined to wring from me one of my books be- 
fore handing it over, I detached several pages, 
which I carefully preserved ; the buyer brought 
me back my book; I enticed him aside, into 
one of my rooms, and the assistance of my 
patron saint has never failed me; never has 
my arm weakened." 

"And so you had the heart to assassinate a 
creature made in the image of God?" 

"What would you have? Men are mortal: 
God calls them to himself a little sooner or a 
little later; good books must be preserved." 

"And it was solely for the sake of books that 
you committed these murders?" 

"Books! yes! books! Books are the glory 
of God!" 

"You are also the assassin of Paxtot?" 

"Could I leave in his hands an object so 
precious as that unique copy printed by Lam- 
bert Palmart ! He was a good fellow after all, 
notwithstanding the wrong he did me in de- 
priving me of that book. When he was dead 
I set fire to his bed." 

"You did not take his money?" 

" Do you take me for a thief? I gave them 
all back their money." 

Vincente's counsel, in defence of his client, 
in this desperate strait, maintained that there 
might exist several copies of the books found 
in his store, and that it was out of the question 
to condemn, on his own sham avowal, a man 
who appeared to be half -cracked. 

The counsel for the prosecution said that 
that plea could not be urged in the case of the 
book printed by Lambert Palmart, as but one 
copy of that was in existence. 

But the prisoner's counsel retorted by put- 
ting in evidence attested affirmations that a 
second copy of the "Furos de Arago" was in 
existence in France. 

Up to this moment Vincente had maintained 
an imperturbable calm; but on hearing his 
counsel's plea he burst into tears — 

"At last then — said the Alcade to Vincente 
— you recognize the gravity of your crime?" 

"Ah! your worship, of what a gross error 
have I been guilty ! Never will you understand 
how miserable I am." 

"The better for you, prisoner. God will 
take into account your repentance." 

"Alas! Alas! your worshij), my copy is not 
unique! . . ." 

Vincente was condemned to be strangled, 
and when asked if he had anything more to 
urge all he could utter, sobbing violently, was: 
"Ah ! your worship, my copy was not unique ! " 

Carlyle and His Wife. 

Froude's "Life of Carlyle," from the time it 
first saw the light,has evoked a storm of criticism 
and controversy. The biography of the cele- 
brated Scotchman has, indeed, proved to be a 
bone of contention. The adherents of Carlyle 
have declared and still assert that Froude has 
grossly maligned the great man, either through 
malice or through possessing a too exuberant 
imagination. The question as to whether Mrs. 
Carlyle was an ill-used woman or merely an 
hysterical one, has been left more or less at 
rest for a considerable time. Now, however, 
the storm has again broken out with increased 
violence, and the literary and journalistic world 
of Great Britain is all agog, and even some of 
the medical journals are taking part in the 
wordy battle. The reason for this stirring of 
sleeping fires, is that a book has been recently 
published by two relations of Carlyle, contain- 
ing further letters of Mrs. Carlyle, and a long 
introduction by Sir James Crichton-Browne. 
The contents of this volume purport to be a 
complete vindication of Carlyle and inciden- 
tally are somewhat of a vilification of Froude, 
or rather of the methods he used in compiling the 
famous philosopher's biography. 

Sir James Crichton-Browne, who is the well- 
known British alienist, states that Mrs. Carlyle 
was of an extremely neurotic temperament, and 
that the letters in which she brings charges 
against her husband were merely the ordinary 
manifestations of such a condition. She was, 
moreover, addicted to some extent to the mor- 
phine habit, which, of course, is calculated to 
render a person irritable and suspicious. The 
English physician makes a strong and forcible 
defence of Carlyle 's character, which, however, 
does not appear to be entirely convincing. 

The British Medical Journal, June 13th, has 
an article on the subject in which, while allow- 
ing that Sir James Browne makes a good case, 
is yet inclined to think that not all the fault 
lay on the wife's side, but that Carlyle was a 
most difficult, almost impossible, person to live 
with in domestic harmony and peace. The 
part of the article referred to reads as follows: 



"While we hold that Sir James Crichton- 
Browne has made out his case as to Mrs. Carlyle, 
we do not think that he has succeeded in vindi- 
cating Carlyle's character as a husband. No in- 
genuity in explaining away his use of. the word 
'remorse' can wipe out the record of his 
unavailing contrition when he found what a 
tragedy he had made of her life. It would be 
idle to blame him; he was wrapped up in 
his work, and took the self-sacrifice of his 
wife, as he took his morning porridge, as a 
matter of right. Thackeray, the arch-enemy 
of snobs, confesses that in his heart he was 
himself a snob. Carlyle, less sensitively self- 
conscious, never seems to have suspected that 
he, the denouncer of shams, was himself 
deluded by shams, giving to poor, hopeless 
souls who asked for the bread of guidance 
the stone of a vague appeal to the veraci- 
ties and silences." There is another point 
which has been widely and almost shamelessly 
discussed by the lay press of England: the 
question as to whether Carlyle was physically 
fit for marriage. It has been hinted on many 
occasions and from many quarters that to his 
physical unfitness was due much of Mrs. Car- 
lyle's domestic infelicity. Whether this were 
so or not will never be settled, and thus it is 
useless to debate the point. To one who has 
never dived very deeply into "I'affaire Car- 
lyle," but has been simply a cursory reader of 
some of the literature on the subject, the un- 
happiness of the marriage would appear to have 
been chiefly, if not wholly, caused by incom- 
patibility of temperament. There are no peo- 
ple more difficult to live with than those er.- 
dowed with that indefinable attribute known as 
genius. Their mental make-up is altogether 
different to that of the common crowd, they 
do not regard most matters from the same 
standpoint ; in a word, they inhabit a world of 
their own and have little sympathy with or 
understanding of beings of a more common 
clay. They are unwittingly but inordinately 
selfish. Now Carlyle was a genius and, in ad- 
dition, a dyspeptic. Mrs. Carlyle, although not 
to be classed in the same category, as regards 
the quality of her brain, with her husband, was 
nevertheless a highly talented and sensitive 
woman of very neurotic temperament. Men 
of genius, especially if they are dyspeptic as 
well, should never marry, and when they do 
marry they should choose as mates, women of 
the fat, easy-going, lymphatic type, to whom 
their excentricities and vagaries would matter 
nothing, and from whom their irritable or 
caustic words would slide like water from a 
duck's back. — Medical Record. 

The Book-Lover's Heaven. 

By Tom Mason. 

The golden streets of Paradise 

He wandered by himself, 
Until his seeking, quickened eyes 

Saw books upon a shelf. 

In Heaven's library he strolled, 
Those countless tomes to view; 

By bookish passion made o'erbold, 
He searched their titles through. 

Rabelais met his eager sight; 

He rubbed his eyes again. 
Yes, there within his reach, at right, 

He recognized Tom Paine. 

Omar Khayyam and Montaigne, 
Huxley and Hume, were there; 

His old friend Darwin, and again 
He clasped with love Voltaire. 

The student's eyes, by tears made blind, 

No more the titles read. 
Prostrate, his joyful form reclined: 

"Ah, this is Heaven!" he said. 

The Author of '* There Is No Death/* 

A persistent miscredit has followed the 
authorship of the beautiful poem, "There Is 
No Death." Its author is J. L. McCreery, 
formerly editor of the Delaware County Jour- 
nal, at Delta, Iowa. It was written in 1863. 
It was published in Arthur's Home Magazine 
in July of that year, and a few weeks later it 
was reprinted in his own paper, giving credit 
to the magazine. A little later, Eugene Bul- 
mer, living near Dixon, 111., contributed to an 
agricultural paper at Chicago an article on 
"Immortality," closing it with Mr. McCreery's 
lines, "There Is No Death," without credit. 
Another paper reprinted it, attaching the 
name of E. Bulmer. From the latter paper 
it was republished by a contemporary; and 
assuming that E. Bulwer was meant instead 
of Bulmer, it came to pass that Bulwer 
Lytton thereafter was generally credited with 
the authorship, thus robbing Mr. McCreery 
and the State of Iowa of a credit undeniably 

It is said the poem has been quoted in full 
or in part at least five times in Congress, and 
has thus been embalmed in the Congressional 
records. Mr. McCreery at one time sat in the 
gallery of the House of Representatives and 
heard his poem recited in full, credit, as usual, 
being given to Bulwer Lytton. The poem 
has been printed in innumerable school books 
and collections of poems. In 1870 the Har- 
pers printed the poem in their Fifth Reader, 
giving credit to Lord Lytton. 



Out of the flotsam and jetsam of worthless Mr. Barker took the books from the shelf and 

old volumes that drift from neglected libraries opened one of the volumes he read the title 

into the hands of buyers of musty old books page, whieh is printed in French and runs : 
frequently there comes a relic to make the ..-,, , r tt t^ , ■ . i 

eyes of the bibliomaniac sparkle with the f^re , ,J7TJ^''% ^ ^ Pensylvanie ct dans 

of greed. From out forgotten old chests, from ^ l^^l ^^ ,^^^^ ^""'^ ^f ^.,^" ^^"l^^'"^ ^^°P^' ^^ 

the cobwebbed and dusty corners of dark old ^f ^f '^^^ ^"!;^^- ^^f "\^ "^ pubhe par 1 autcur 

„^^^„4.^ f^^^ +u 1 „ 1 1 1 u- 4. r des Lettres dun cultivateur American, lome 

garrets, from the long-locked cabmets of some c , t^t-t • ■ ^ r^ ii. at-.- 

Z^^ 4-;^^ u-i r 1 -1 r 4-1 11 1 oecond. De L impnmenc dc Crapelet. A Pans, 

one-time bibliophile scores of these old volumes nu mt ^ i u ■ r. c a j j 

1 i -r, •, • f ,, , , r 11 , o Chez Maradan, Libraire, rue Pavee b. Andre-des- 

have drifted into the hands of collectors. Some a^^. - z- amtv q 

r ,, 1 i_ j_- -I ■ ^ 11 Arcs, n i6 ANIX-1801. 

01 the volumes have a romantic history, sell 

for fabulous prices, and are, for once and all. But that told him little. Then his attention 

rescued from the ignominy of dust and pulp was attracted to a small, red circular stamp 

eating worms. in one comer of the title page. Looking closely 

On a shelf in a dark corner of G. W. Barker's at it, he read: " Bibliotheque du Citoyen Na- 

old book store in a basement on Dearborn poleon Bonaparte." 

street, just off Monroe, three volumes stood for That was enough. Mr. Barker tore off the 

months awaiting a purchaser. The gilt had tag marked "Price $1.50" and threw it upon 

fallen from the title letters on the leathern the floor. He then looked at the other two 

back. The leather itself was scaled and scarred, volumes. They, too, bore the library stamp 

and to add to the disgrace of dust and mould, of the tiny Corsican. And as interesting as 

a ticket marked "Price $1.50" hung from one this was a stamp upon both the front and back 

of the three volumes. A few days ago the covers of each of the three books. It was the 

books found a buyer and now the set is pro- letter " J " beneath Josephine's imperial coronet, 

nounced priceless. The purveyor of old books showed the books 

The three books had drifted into the shop to local experts. He was confident the three 

with a rather disreputable company of old volumes had belonged to Napoleon. Some 

French tomes. Whence they came Mr. Barker agreed with him. Others did not. 
does not now remember. When they arrived Mr. Barker locked the books in his safe. A 

in the shop they were dusted, tagged, and set few days later a noted book collector of the 

upon a shelf to await a purchaser. But no East was in the shop. He examined the books, 

purchaser came and there, alongside an old He wanted to buy them, although he ridiculed 

copy of Cobb's poems and other volumes in the idea that they could ever have belonged to 

various stages of decay, stood these three pat- Napoleon. But he insisted on having them, 

rician books, dogeared by an emperor and He came again the next day. A month later 

bearing the imperial crest of an empress. he called and offered a large price for the three 

These three volumes once belonged to the volumes. He did not get them. They finally 

private library of Citizen Napoleon Bonaparte passed into the possession of Frederick W. Cor- 

and later to the Empress Josephine. In the nish, a Chicago attorney, whose home is at 

mind of the buyer of old books and of many Lake Bluff. 

connoisseurs who have examined this set there Mr. Cornish and Mr. Barker have endeavored 

is no doubt that Napoleon gained not a small to trace the travels of the books, but without 

part of his knowledge of Louisiana territory avail. But they have done one thing; they 

from their pages. But that fact did not for have established proof, they believe, that the 

a long time distinguish the trio of board-bound books came from Napoleon's library, and that, 

books and they kept company with a lot of lost from the other books of that library which 

plebian prints which have value only because has been scattered and blown hither and yon, 

they are aged. they finally, by the accident of chance, drifted 

One day, however, the books were discovered, to the second-hand book shop, 
or rather, like Kipling's ship, they found them- The set was published in 180 1. In the in- 
selves. Along with many others they were troduction the publisher states that the chap- 
taken down to be placed on a sidewalk stand ters of the three volumes were taken from 
at a reduced price to tempt the passers-by manuscripts recovered from the wreck of the 
whose interest is not deep enough to induce vessel Morning Star, which went on the rocks 
them to begrime their hands in fondling the of Heligoland while bound from Philadelphia 
old treasures on the shelves inside. When for Copenhagen. 



The manuscript was written by a Frenchman 
who was an adopted member of the tribe of 
Oneida Indians. He had traveled over nearly- 
all that territory east of the Mississippi, knew 
something of the conditions in the territory 
west of and contiguous to the Father of Waters 
and was well versed in regard to the inhabitant, 
the development and the resources of the East- 
ern and Southern states and colonies. 

In 1803, when Napoleon nep^otiated the sale 
of Louisiana, the set was the very latest work 
treating of that territory. Bookmen who have 
closely examined the set declare their belief to 
be that Napoleon consulted these three books 
for information regarding Louisiana. At many 
pages where the text bears expressly upon this 
subject the leaves have been turned down. 

The red stamp of the Napoleonic library 
which appears on the title page of each of the 
books is pronounced genuine by collectors of 
Napoleona. They argue that this set must 
have come into Napoleon's possession soon 
after its imprint, and that it was then marked 
with his "citizen" stamp. These same col- 
lectors say that the crest of Josephine must 
have been placed upon the covers at a later 
date, after she became Empress. 

How the books could have journeyed to 
Chicago, and finally landed in a repository for 
forgotten tomes, no one can explain. Mr. Bar- 
ker does not know from whom he bought them. 
He is sure they came in with a large collection 
of French books he received more than three 
years ago. With these other books, most of 
which have disappeared into the hands of buy- 
ers, they were bought for a song. When they 
were sold a few days ago they brought a pretty 
pile, and it would take much more to buy 
them again. 

All three volumes are in a splendid state of 
preservation. The board backs are all intact, 
although the leather hinges are cracked and 
worn. The pages are yellow with age, but the 
print is still clear, and the old maps and charts 
are as plain now as the day they came from 
the press. 

An attempt will be made by the present 
owner of the books to ferret out their history. 
If there is aught of romance about them he 
wants to know it. He is satisfied that the 
books really belonged to Napoleon's library, 
and played their part in one of the world's 
largest land deals. 

The set left the hands of the editor April 17, 
1800, and were printed the following year. 
They were inscribed to George Washington by 
S. J. D. C. — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

Sonnet on the Sonnet. 

By Dexter Smith. 

What is a sonnet? 'Tis the poet's thought, 
In few and choicest words to be expressed ; 
Refined and chaste in polished surface dressed 

Like to the lapidary's jewel wrought, 

Slow from its rougher outer casing brought. 
A golden gem, from Poesy's high crest. 
It is the artist's striving for the best; 

A feather from the wings of Fancy caught. 

What is a sonnet? 'Tis a cameo, 

A ray of splendor through the clouds of Time; 
A strain from Petrarch, Michael-Angelo, 

That sings in unison with Nature's rhyme; 
From fields where Dante's, Shakespeare's, flowers 

We may cull sonnets deathless and sublime' 

TroIIope and the Priest. 

Mr. W. R. Le Fanu, in his "Seventy Years' 
Recollections," gives the following anecdote of 
Anthony Trollope's first visit to Ireland. 
Trollope was making an irregular tour as an 
employe of the Post Office, and he had to in- 
stitute some inquiries in a remote village in the 
far West : 

After a long and weary journey he arrived, 
late in the afternoon, at his destination. The only 
place of entertainment in the village was a small 
public-house. His bed-room was approached by 
a flight of steps, half stairs, half ladder, not far 
from the perpendicular. Trollope retired early, 
but he felt nervous and uncomfortable. At last 
he fell into a restless sleep. Suddenly he woke up, 
hearing a stealthy footstep approaching his bed. 
Trollope (who, it must be remembered, was a very 
powerfully-built man) sprang from his bed and 
grappled with the intruder, also a powerful man, 
and he held him so tightly by the throat that the 
stranger could not speak. In the struggle the 
combatants came to the open door, where Trollope's 
antagonist stumbled, and fell down the steep stairs. 
Aroused by the noise, the inmates of the house 
rushed into the room and struck a light. The 
moment they had done so, Trollope heard his land- 
lady cry out, "Oh, boys, that murderous villain 
has killed his reverence." "We'll soon settle the 

Sassenach!" said some men, rushing to the 

place, and but for the intervention of the half- 
strangled priest the novelist would no doubt have 
been lynched. When peace was estabhshed, and 
explanations and apologies made, Trollope found 
that the man he had assaulted was the parish 
priest, who had been kept out late at a "sick call," 
and had come into the public-house to get a bed. 
Hearing that an English gentleman was occupying 
the other bed in the room, he went up as noiselessly 
as possible, undressed, put out his candle, and was 
creeping to bed as softly as he could, in order not 
to disturb the sleeping stranger. Fortunately, he 
was none the worse of the fall, and he and Trollope 
became fast friends. 



Except fishing, there is probably no depart- 
ment of human diversion which is the cause of 
more deception, both direct and indirect, than 
reading. The entire social fabric sometimes 
rests on the assumption that everyone remem- 
bers all that he has read, and that he has read 
everything that he ought to have read. No 
one can explain why this should be; it is an 
enigma which lies deep in the secret essence 
of things. The awful fact, of course, is that 
most of us have read scarcely anything, and 
of the little that we have read nothing remains 
in our minds but a vague and rather futile im- 
pression. And yet we are fond of books; we 
have a taste for them, and without them we are 
miserable. The lack of system in our perusals, 
the fleeting nature of their effect on us, and the 
lying which is consequently forced upon us 
strike us occasionally with such sharpness that 
we make solemn resolutions to follow a set course 
of reading, and to adopt measures to transform 
what we have read into a permanent inward 
possession. Such resolutions are usually broken ; 
but they ought still to be encouraged. I have 
in various articles tried to indicate "what" to 
read, and I shall now therefore put down the 
result of my experience in attacking the problem 
"how to read," the problem of the actual prac- 
tice of reading. It must be understood that I 
do so quite as a fellow sinner and backslider. 

I confess myself rather a cynic concerning 
most of the suggestions that I have ever seen 
about the practice of reading. I remember 
once scanning an article in a paper devoted to 
the interests of young men, which advised the 
self-improver to write a critical essay on each 
book that he read. Beautiful advice, but peo- 
ple — and especially young men — don't, and 
won't do these things! Perhaps they would 
run a risk of being priggish if they did. The 
idea of a man who is not a professional critic, 
a man who reads mainly for pleasure, after all, 
sitting down in cold blood to accomplish a 
critical essay every few days, is too wild for 
serious consideration. Another equally Uto- 
pian notion is that the reader should make an 
abstract of each book read, and, I suppose, 
keep the abstracts filed and indexed for refer- 
ence! What is wanted, in the way of an aid 
to the permanent usefulness of reading, is not 
some halcyon scheme which might be accom- 
plished if human nature was not human nature, 
but a simple and trifling dodge which will not 
put an undue strain on the human-ness of the 
average reader. It is useless to pretend that 
people are differently constituted from what 

they arc. We are weak, and our weakness 
must be allowed for. We should like to write 
essays and abstracts, but when it comes to the 
point we fail in energy, in steadfastness of pur- 
pose. After we have read and enjoyed a book, 
we want to read and enjoy another book, not 
to martyrize ourselves as though we were going 
in for an examination. 

Well, there is the dodge of the "common- 
place book," so industriously carried out by 
Southey, Southgate, and others. Into this 
commonplace book one transcribes the passages 
which have impressed, which appear to one to 
contain the gist or flower of the author's "mes- 
sage"; and thus one is helped to remember 
them, and one always knows where to find 
them. The commonplace book demands no 
expenditure of intellect or of creative force; 
it merely demands a little trouble. And yet — 
and yet — only a minority of ethusiastic read- 
ers will keep even a commonplace book! We 
of the majority, when we come across the 
striking passage, instead of transcribing it at 
once, say we will transcribe it before going to 
bed, and then we will say we will transcribe it 
next day; and thus it occurs that there are 
thousands of lovely commonplace books in 
studious homes blank save for the first three 
or four pages. Nevertheless, a commonplace 
book is worth attempting. 

The books may be bought in blank, deli- 
ciously ruled out under all manner of headings, 
with index pages, and solidly bound. For my- 
self, I prefer something simpler. I desire no 
divisions in my commonplace book, except a 
vertical line one inch from the left-hand margin. 
To the left of that line I write the author's 
name as large as I can, and under the author's 
name I write title of book, edition, chapter, 
page, as small as I can ; to the right of the line 
I transcribe my extract. I like my common- 
place books to be light and portable, and I in- 
variably use what are called "Artists' Black- 
and-White Sketch Books," which contain loo 
leaves of thin opaque paper (any spoilt leaf 
can be torn out without damage), and are 
well and truly bound. They can be got at 
a reasonable price in various sizes up to eight 
inches by six and one-half inches, from many 
stationers. I rule my own lines. And I never 
bother about indexes. Having regard to the 
extraordinary paucity of days in a week, I find 
life too short for indexing. 

I must own, however, that my manufacture 
of commonplace books is irregular and capri- 
cious ; in a word, human. And I consider that 



a much better method of constructing a refer- 
ence apparatus is to utiHze the inside of the 
back cover of the book which one is reading. 
If this surface — as sometimes happens — is not 
white, one may utilize the fly-leaf at the end. 
One should be armed with an indelible lead- 
pencil, for when one is seated in one's easy 
chair in full enjoyment of the book, the labor 
involved in rising and walking to the inkpot 
does not precisely "make for righteousness." 
All that is necessary in order to note a notable 
passage is to write the number of the page and 
a brief description of the subject. No trouble, 
no brains, no steadfastness ; but at the close of 
one's perusal one has a complete list of the 
good things in the book, and one knows where 
that list is; it can never be lost till the book 
is lost. A shelf full of books with such lists 
at the end of them is a treasure of practical 
usefulness, a key to knowledge, and an ever- 
present help when one needs a literary tonic. 

But the finest, and the only infallible, way 
of getting full value and permanent joy out of 
a good book is to read it twice. To read a book 
once is merely to savor it. Every good book 
will seem better at the second perusal than at 
the first, and the same statement applies even to 
many volumes that just miss being good. At 
the second reading one acquires a sense of the 
book's perspective, and of the relative import- 
ance of its parts; the excellences of it become 
emphasized, and the notable passages lodge 
themselves in the memory. I am a great ad- 
vocate of twice reading as a royal road to learn- 
ing, wisdom and taste. And I am quite sure 
that it is better to have read the "twenty best 
books" twice than to have read the "hundred 
best books" once. 

Some students keep a diary of their reading. 
It is certainly an excellent plan, charged with 
biographical interest for one's old age, to keep 
a list of books read, with dates. But few per- 
sons, I fancy, keep another list which is really 
more important, namely, a list of books which 
one wants to read. Titles of desirable volumes 
are always cropping up in study, in conversa- 
tion, and in newspapers. Generally they are 
noticed and forgotten. This should not be so. 


By Albert HoLrdy 

What care I for the world's great moving show? 

Secure am I within my ingle-nook: 
Let trouble come to those who tread the paths of men ; 

I have my study-lamp and favorite book. 

— The Reader. 

Ballade of the Bookman's Paradise. 

By Clinton Scollard. 

A little stand without the door 

Whereon scant treasure is arrayed, 
Yet just enough to tempt explore 

The inner depths of dust and shade; 

Enter; how glade on bookish glade 
Parts right and left to peering eyes, 

Proclaiming both to man and maid — 
This is the bookman's paradise! 

There is a shelf of ancient lore, 

Black-lettered pages overlaid 
With umber mottles, score on score; 

There is an alcove filled with frayed 

Tall folios standing stiff and staid, 
Like knights of mediaeval guise; 

Open, and why 'tis straight displayed — 
This is the bookman's paradise. 

Delve deep, and with what golden ore — 
What riches will your hands be weighed! 

Each comer owns its precious store, — 
Poets from Homer down to Praed, 
Philosophers, and those that trade 

In tales that scoffers label "lies"; — 

The few whose fame shall never fade; — 

This is the bookman's paradise. 


Collectors, of each grain and grade, 

When ye shall come to "price" a prize, 

Although ye may be sore dismayed, 
This is the bookman's paradise! 

Ballade of Old Authors. 

By John Buchan. 

Of making books there is no end. 
So spake the preacher long ago; 
And we who to some lore pretend 
For gospel truth the saying know. 
For year by year with ceaseless flow 
Come streams of books both bad and good. 
We turn them over, glance — but no. 
Not here we find beatitude. 

For us let Izaak still commend 
His gentle art to high and low; 
Let valiant Jeremy defend 
His creed against the Roundhead foe. 
Let glorious Ben with dry bon-mot 
Portray man's every thought and mood. 
And dames of flounce and furbelow; — 
'Tis here we find beatitude. 

When lamps in winter season lend 
To study walls a cheerful glow, 
Then let our Shakespeare condescend 
Fair women and brave men to show. 
And while we smirk with fop and beau. 
Or laugh with wits in brotherhood. 
Or rhyme with Villon and Marot, — 
'Tis then we find beatitude. 


Prince, all our later books are slow, 
Their humor slight, their fancies rude, 
To volumes old for pleasure go; 
'Tis there you find beatitude.* 



By J. R.lvt>rs. 

Horace complains that in his day a poet 
was hard set for an original theme. It must 
almost follow, therefore, that the originality of 
the latter-day singer — the offspring of a pro- 
lific subconsciousness — exists in inverse ratio 
to the date of his birth. 

It is a melancholy pastime tracing the wise 
and witty sayings of one's friends through the 
brains of intermediate geniuses to the source, 
but even more painful is it to find two or more 
of them belaboring each other in audible print 
for no better reason than that their rivers of 
discourse have taken rise in the same mountain 
range of imagination. 

One cannot but admire the refreshing can- 
dor of the French dramatist Etienne. " Books," 
he remarks, "are such handy things, for one 
finds in them one's wit ready made." Better 
still, we find Richesource (the very name is 
suggestive) not only defending plagiarism but 
actually founding an Academy of Plagiarists, 
and what is yet more surprising is to find the 
eloquent Flechier mentioned among his pupils. 

Martial is sarcastic and, of course, epigram- 
matic at the expense of the plagiarist: 

"Carmina Paullus emit; recitat sua carmina Paullus. 
Nam quod emas; possis dicere jure tuum." 

Then Martial imitates himself and is trans- 
lated happily by Sir John Harrington : 

"The golden hair Fabulla wears 

Is hers, who would have thought it? 

She swears 'tis hers and true she swears, 
For I know where she bought it." 

Martial has another epigram : 

" Non amo te Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare; 
Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te." 

This was borrowed and touched up by Bussy 

Rabutin in his "Histoire Amoureus des 


" Je ne vous aime pas, Hylas, 
Je n'en saurias dire la cause; 
Je sais seulement une chose: 
C'est que je ne vous aime pas." 

The lines were again borrowed by an Oxford 
wit, and applied with deathless success to Dr. 
John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686. 

The Restoration was the occasion of a vast 
number of unacknowledged "adapted" plays 
from the French. One of the most successful 
was Gibber's "Non-Juror," a close translation 
of Moliere's "Tartuffe," though this fact was 
carefully suppressed by the translator, who 
told the King that he attributed its phenom- 
enal success "to the happy choice of subject." 

When at the height of its popularity, a tragedy 
entitled "Sir Walter Raleigh" appeared, in the 
prologue of which the author says: 

"Yet to write plays is easy, faith, enough, 
As you have seen by Gibber in Tartuffe. 
With how much wit did he your hearts engage! 
He only stole the play; he writ the title-i)age." 

Another literary Columbus discovered 
"Zaire," and succeeded in palming it off as his 
own. In the preface to this mock-tragedy of 
"Madrigal and Trullette" (1758), one Joseph 
Reed writes: "When I reflect on the prev- 
alency of this iniquitous practice, I am ready 
to fall down on my marrow-bones and return 
my humble and hearty thanks to Goddess 
Nature for so kindly disqualifying me for the 
perpetration of such offense by giving me the 
knowledge of one language only." 

Yet, if English authors plundered their 
French neighbors, the latter were not backward 
in taking their own, and considerably more 
than their own, from the works of Farquhar, 
Congreve, Wycherley, Vanbrugh, Sheridan 
Fielding, Richardson and others. A freely 
bowdlerized version of "Tom Jones" by Poin- 
sinet, with musical interludes (!) by Monsieur 
Philidor, achieved a veritable triumph in Paris. 
A close adaptation of "The School for Scan- 
dal," by Pluteau, was not so fortunate; the 
conduct of Lady Teazle was deemed "too 
scandalous for presentation on the French 
stage," and the play was, in fact, damned on 
the score of immorality! 

It sometimes happened that an English ver- 
sion of a French play was produced as original 
on our stage, and was translated back into 
French and vice versa, until things got to such 
a pass that it was the most difficult thing in the 
world to fix the paternity of a play with any 
degree of certainty. 

Pope laid most of his contemporaries and 

others under contribution : 

"Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name. 
See Cromwell damn'd to everlasting fame!" 

The first simile at one time belonged to Cow- 
ley, the second to Savage. 

Whether the following well-known couplet 

was appropriated from Dryden or from Boileau 

is a nice question: 

"Fonn'd by thy converse happily to steer 
From grave to gay, from lively to severe." 

Dryden's version is as follows: 

" Happy who in his verse can gently steer 

From grave to light, from pleasant to severe," 



Whilst Boileau's version reads: 

" Heureux qui, dans ses vers, sait d'une voix legere 
Passer du grave au doux, du plaisant au severe." 

One of Pope's best-known lines : 
"The proper study of mankind is man" 
is to be found in Charron's "De la Sagesse," 
Bk. I., Chapter I. 

Sterne was an inveterate literary filibuster. 
Whole pages of Rabelais and of Burton's 
"Anatomy of Melancholy" are emptied into 
"Tristram Shandy." His famous 

"God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," 
is lifted bodily from Henri Etienne's 

"Dieu mesure le froid k la brebis tondue," 
though he may possibly have seen Herbert's 
"To a close-shorn sheep God gives wind by measure." 

One is tempted to translate the line in John- 
son's epitaph on Goldsmith — Nullum quod 
tetigii non ornavit — by " He stole nothing which 
he did not adorn" ; and indeed this is no more 
than the truth. It is somewhat significant 
that the finest line in the epitaph of so arrant 
a plagiary is itself a plagiarism, for we find the 
same phrase applied by Fenelon to Cicero. 

Again and again did Goldsmith light his 

torch at the altar of the French Muse. In his 

"Elegy on a Mad Dog" we read: 

"The dog, to gain his private ends 
Went mad and bit the man. 

The man recovered of the bite, 
The dog it was that died." 

For once he marred rather than adorned his 
spoil. Voltaire's lines were: 

"L' autre jour au bord d'un vallon, 
Un serpent mordait Jean Freron; 
Que pensez-vous qu'il arriva? 
Ce fut le serpent qui creva." 

"Of late as he a stroll did take, 
Freron was bitten by a snake ; 
And what, think you, did then betide? 
Forsooth, it was the snake that died." 

Goldsmith's "Lines on Woman" is almost a 
word for word translation of another French 

Young wrote: 

"Man wants but little nor that little long." 

And Goldsmith after him : 

"Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little long." 

Again in his " Haunch of Venison " he writes : 
"Such dainties to them, their health it might hurt. 
It's like sending them ruffles when wanting a shirt." 

Tom Browne, taking advantage of an earlier 
birthday, had already written : 

"To treat a poor wretch with a bottle of Bur- 
gundy and fill his snuflf-box is like giving a pair 
of laced ruffles to a man that has never a shirt 
on his back." 

But even Tom Browne was just a little too 
late, for Sorbiere, some years before, had writ- 
ten of "giving ruffles to a man who wants a 
shirt"; and several years later came Cham 
fort's maxim: 

"II faut etre juste avant d'etre g^ndreux, 

Comme on a des chemises avant d'avoir des dentelles." 

Sorbiere lived from 1 610-1670; Tom Browne, 
1 663- 1 704; Goldsmith, 172 8- 1774; and Cham- 
fort, 1 741-1794: we leave the judicious reader 
to decide between the rival claimants. 

Apart from his indebtedness to Rabelais and 
Cyrano de Bergerac, Swift owes still more to 
"L'Histoire des Sevarambes," a republican 
novel whose authorship is uncertain. This 
work, which was suppressed in France and 
other Catholic countries, was first published in 
1675, revised in 1679, and enlarged in 1702, and 
was translated into English by Mandeville in 
1726, a year before the publication of 'Gulli- 
ver's Travels"; though, to be sure, a part of 
the latter work was in existence as early as 

Southey mentions this work in his "Collo- 
quies," and remarks that "there is a want of 
moral and religious feeling in the book (the 
'History of the Severites or Severambes'), but 
it is no ordinary work." 

The lighthearted burglaries of Sterne, Swift 
and Goldsmith created a precedent which was 
eagerly followed by Gray among others But 
Gray cracked his cribs in broad daylight, and 
snatched the jewels from under the very noses 
of their owners. " Rosy-bosom'd hours" in his 
"Ode to Spring" is a fine metaphor; no man 
was a better judge of a metaphor than Gray, 
and as Milton was then out of fashion no one 
was likely to put in a claim on his behalf, so 
Gray with characteristic sagacity agreed to take 
it as he found it. It was probably while Pope 
was engaged in rifling the literary remains of 
Boileau and Charron that his own pockets were 
the objective of the light-handed Gray. "Is it 
for thee, the linnet pours her throat?" asks 
Pope. "Pours her throat" is another fine 
metaphor. It followed that it found its way 
into Gray's "Ode to Spring" as it stood. 

It is curious to trace the evolution of one of 

Gray's finest couplets. Pope wrote: 

"There kept by charms concealed from m^ortal eye, 
Like roses that in deserts bloom and die," 

which is perhaps a reminiscence of a couplet in 
Waller's song, "Go, lovely rose." 

Then Young, writing of Nature: 

"In distant wilds by human eye unseen 

She rears her flowers and spreads her velvet green 

Pure gurgling rills the lovely desert trace. 

And waste their music on the savage race." 


Then Gray caps them both witli : the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in 

"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen the multitude of sensations? Who knows hut 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air." he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and 

A more recent instance of the evolution of a weep a people mourned and their greatness 

fine thought is afforded by Macaulay's famous changed into an empty name?" The same 

image: " She (the Roman Catholic Church) may thought as it strikes a rhetorical Frenchman, 

still exist in undiminished vigor when some tra- In 18 12 Mrs. Barbauld published a poem en- 

veller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a titled " i&ii," in which she prophesies that on 

vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of some future day a traveller from the Antipodes 

London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's." will "from a broken arch of Blackfriar's Bridge 

The thought was first embodied by Horace contemplate the ruins of St. Paul's." Shelley 

Walpole in a letter to Mason, dated November again used the image in his dedicatory letter to 

24,1774. " At last some curious traveller from Peter Bell the Third, addressed in 1819 to 

Lima will visit England, and give a description Moore, and Macaulay was so fond of it that he 

of the ruins of St. Paul's, like the editions of uses it on three separate occasions: in his re- 

Baalbec and Palmyra." Twenty years later view of Mitford's "Greece," 1824; again in 

Volney pubhshed his "Ruines," in which we "Mill on Government," and lastly in its final 

read: "Who knows but that hereafter some form as quoted from his " Ranke's Popes," 

traveller like myself will sit down upon the 1840. Perhaps this is the most curious in- 

banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder stance of great minds running together which 

Zee, where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, our literature affords. 


One wild, rainy Sunday afternoon in Novem- sal ; my head is better than a thousand ency- 

ber as I lounged before a roaring fire, idly clopasdias; Pve read everything that has ever 

turning the leaves of an old book catalogue, been written about books, from Richard de 

a sportive wind whistled down my chimney Bury's " Philobiblon " down to Eugene Field's 

and puffed a quantity of smoke out into the "Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac." 

room. After drifting about for a brief interval "Through such a diligent study of bibliog- 

it settled down on a chair in the corner where raphy I have mastered all the pretty conceits 

it slowly assumed the shape of a queer little relating to the gentle art of book-hunting. I 

old man with snow white hair. know where the rarest volumes and scarcest 

His face was smoothly shaven, his black eyes manuscripts are to be found, can locate all 
twinkled behind a pair of horn spectacles, and unique copies, give the prices they fetched at 
a rumpled shirt frill, sprinkled with snuff, pro- various auctions, and feel in duty bound to 
truded from his waist coat of buff brocaded share my information with the devotee. Know- 
satin. A red silk doublet, trimmed with lace, ing that money is essential to the collector, I 
hung loosely from his shoulders, lavender have perused all the ponderous tomes written 
colored smalls of the same material, with stock- by ancient astrologers, and from them ex- 
ings to match encased his limbs, and red-heeled tracted the secret of transforming base metal 
shoes, embellished with silver buckles, com- into gold, which, when exchanged for the coin 
pleted his attire. of the realm, I lavish upon the initiated. 

When I had sufficiently recovered from my "At stated intervals during the last twelve 

astonishment to articulate I exclaimed: years when business has brought me into this 

"I beg your pardon, sir, but will you kindly locality, I have found you prowling in ways 

tell me to whom I am indebted for the pleasure obscure on the still hunt for large game. I 

of this visit?" noticed from the first that you exhibited some 

At this he arose to his feet, made me a low symptoms of bibliomania, so out of curiosity 

bow and responded in a shrill, piping voice : I followed you from one book stall to another, 

"I have the honor to be the bibliophile's only to find that the disease had attacked you 

good genius, an humble servant in the employ in its most malignant form. It has reached the 

of the spirits of departed book-lovers, and com- secondary stage when you can buy a duplicate 

missioned by them to watch over their worthy copy without blushing, and one who does this 

disciples. I am especially fitted for the task (according to John Hill Burton) can never be 

because my knowledge of the subject is univer- reclaimed. 



"In the hope of partially alleviating your 
suflfering I present myself to-day, bringing with 
me one of my magic wigs, which will admit you 
to the book-lover's paradise whenever you 
place it on your head." 

Thus concluding, my visitor handed me a 
brown paper parcel which he pulled from his 
pocket, then taking a pinch of snufi, he sneezed 
twice and evaporated. Upon opening the pack- 
age after his departure I found an ordinary 
full-bottomed wig of the last century, such as 
Dick Steele or Dean Swift might have worn 
most any day on the streets of London. Just 
for an experiment I put it on my head and no 
sooner did I do so than I found myself walking 
along a narrow street lined on either side with 
second-hand book stores of all kinds. My first 
impulse was to feel in my pocket to find out 
how much money I had with me, and was much 
surprised when I pulled out a handful of twenty- 
dollar gold pieces. I tried my other pockets 
with the same result, so with light heart I 
paused before a table full of tempting looking 
volumes displayed on the sidewalk. There 
were nineteen Elzevirs and twenty-seven Al- 
dines in the lot, all in their original wrappers 
and in fine condition. As the dealer only asked 
twenty-five dollars a volume for them, I bought 
the entire set, and passed on. 

At the next stall the first volume I picked 
up was a prayer book with the autograph of 
Margaret of Navarre. Beside it lay Charles 
Lamb's copy of Beaumont and Fletcher, and 
beneath it I found a folio Shakespeare, dated 
1623. In addition to these I purchased five 
hundred other volumes in black letter type, 
among them being Caxton's "Game of Chess" 
and a first edition of "Arcadia." 

I then passed on to the third store, where I 
invested in two thousand extra illustrated vol- 
umes bound in full, old red morocco and pub- 
lished at Paris in 1744. At the same place I 
procured nine hundred broad sheet ballads, 
once owned by Mr. Oldbuck, a collector of 
some note mentioned by Sir Walter Scott. 

Chuckling with delight I paused before the 
first store on the other side and was about to 
buy a copy of the "Breeches" Bible, when I 
discovered that I had only one coin left. Now, 
beside the bible lay a copy of the "Merrie 
Tales of Master Skelton," which I also coveted, 
and, while debating in my mind which of the 
two to purchase, the money began to burn me. 
The odor of singeing cloth was very perceptible. 
I felt all on fire and began to squirm. 

I awoke with a sudden start and found that 
while dreaming a coal from my pipe had fallen 
on my lap and burned a hole in my trousers 
pocket. — The Honey-Jar. 

One of the Editors. 

By S.Virginia. Levis. 

Here am I — Octavia Catherwood St. Clair. 

Pretty? Well, I'm not going to confide to 
you what my mirror tells me. You might 
deem me vain. 

But I will whisper to your sympathetic ear 
that I am an all-around writer for the maga- 
zines, newspapers, etc., formerly stenographer 
and typewriter for Lawton and Oldcourt, at- 

I had aspirations — I have them yet. What 
writer has not? 

And I had just finished a short story — a su- 
preme effort. My heroine, Geraldine Fitz- 
maurice, had all along displayed an icy indif- 
ference to one of the most ardent lovers. Of 
course he was handsome — after the Greek god 
pattern. I thought that type would best appeal 
to my feminine readers, for, of course, my story 
would have readers, it being a supreme effort, 
as aforesaid. 

"Supreme effort" sounds well, doesn't it, 
even if it is hackneyed? and "aforesaid" has a 
law-officey flavor, which, considering my former 
occupation, is not to be wondered at. I do 
not believe "law-officey" is to be found in the 
dictionary — not yet, at least; but what is a 
magazine writer good for if not to coin a new 
word now and again. 

But I digress. (Almost any one can see that 
I digress, though it seems customary to call at- 
tention to the fact.) 

To return to my heroine, whose indifference 
savored of North Pole frigidity, I am glad to 
say that I found a remedy for that. Did I, on 
homeopathic principles, administer Chili sauce ? 
No; her case was a desperate one, and de- 
manded heroic treatment. So I had her en- 
gage a suite of rooms on the top floor of the 
Skyscraper Hotel. Then, Nero-like, I deliber- 
ately planned to set the whole building on fire. 
It blazed with terrific ferocity. The engines 
dashed to the scene of the conflagration, while 
I revelled in the ominous clanging of their bells. 

A pallid face, with wildly beseeching eyes, 
appeared at a window on the thirteenth floor 
of the burning structure. Alas, thirteen was to 
prove a fatally unlucky number for the lovely 
Geraldine Fitzmaurice. At least it looked like 
it, until Ralph Duval most opportunely ap- 
peared upon the scene, and, by the proper ad- 
justment of his strong right arm, carried to a 
place of safety the being he most adored among 
all the hundreds and thousands of beautiful 
girls who inhabit this terrestrial planet for the 
express purpose of playing havoc with mascu- 
line hearts. 



How did he happen to be there in the very- 
nick of time? 

You will have to read the story to' find out. 
I can't be expected to tell everything here. 
Suffice it to say that when the swooning beauty 
recovered consciousness, the indifference which 
had heretofore bound her heart in its icy chains, 
had completely thawed. That fire was hot 
enough to thaw anything. It and Ralph's 
noble heroism did the work. It was an easy 
task to get out cards for the wedding after 
that, and so satisfy the expectations of my 
numerous readers-to-be. 

After completion of that thriller my head 
buzzed. Wouldn't yours? I mean, of course, 
provided you possess the gift of story-telling 
to the degree that I do. 

In the midst of the buzzing the door bell 
rang. The postman handed in two large en- 
velopes. From the first one I opened, out fell 
a neatly printed rejection slip. From the floor 
where it had fluttered, like some wild, yellow 
bird (it was a yellow one this time), I picked it 
up tenderly, and read as follows : 

"We regret extremely that the article you so 
kindly submitted is unavailable. We therefore 
return it with thanks for the privilege of reading it. 

"The return of MSS. does not imply unfavorable 
judgment on their intrinsic merits. Many other 
elements enter into consideration. Yours truly, 

" Editor The Happy Family Magazine.'" 

Pshaw ! Was that editor half as enthusiastic 
as he should have been concerning the happi- 
ness of the families who subscribed to his publi- 
cation, he never would have rejected my paper 
of 2,000 words, giving minute directions for 
preventing infants from crying at night. And 
how he could have failed to accept my article 
entitled "Improved and Never Failing Method 
for Beguiling a Servant into Accepting an 
Engagement in a Family of More Than Two 
Adults, Where There Is No Piano and Where 
the Washing Is Not Given Out" is a query to 

Truly, the ways of editors are past finding 

Only the week before, Silas Kitchener, 
editor-in-chief of The Domestic Science Popular 
Quarterly, refused one of my choice formulas 
for pickling pumpkins. What if pickled pump- 
kins failed to prove gastronomic ally seductive 
to Silas Kitchener and staff? There were 
others only too anxious for articles that would 
increase the circulation of their respective pub- 

The other envelope contained a beautiful 
and touching love story, with a most pathetic 
and unexpected denouement. The editor of 

Cupid's Weekly was a heartless man to have 
returned such a production. I was doubly 
sure of his heartlcssness upon reading his 
"Respectfully Declined." 

Think of it! Not even a regret — nothing 
about intrinsic merit, nor any other of those 
kindly exj)ressi()ns which are intended to lessen 
the severity of the shock of disappointment to 
toiling story-tellers. 

Well, my precious MSS. went back into their 
pigeon hole along with others, and I proceeded 
to paste in a scrapbook the two rejection slips. 

I had a morbid penchant for preserving these 
gloomy reminders ; my book was full of them. 
I forgot all about my Geraldine Fitzmaurice 
and her persistent wooer, as I continued to 
turn over the leaves of the album. Here was 
a lengthy slip from James Jones' Bi-Monthly 
Gazette, and as full as it could hold of soothing 
little sentences like the following: "A MS. 
unsuited to the requirements of one magazine 
may frequently come within the policy of an- 

James Jones might be a nice man, but I 
could entertain no affection for him. He had 
looked coldly upon too many of my literary 

With a fascination I could not resist, I read, 
and continued to read, until I grew so drowsy 
I could scarcely keep my eyes open. Then 
my sleepy eyes encountered ''The Pelican's" 
tersely worded slip: "Returned with thanks." 

But in how short a time were the tables to 
be turned! 

Two novels which I had submitted to The 
Juniper-Tartree Book Publishing Company 
were the talk of the country. Everybody was 
reading "The Unsophisticatedness of Theodo- 
sia." And the novel-loving public was equally 
wild over "The Undoing of Christopher." 

My portrait was everywhere. People gazed 
at it admiringly, as they remarked " How gifted 

is this beauti " but I decline to finish the 

sentence from motives of modesty. 

I knew what I would do. I would write an- 
other book. The magazines would miss me, 
but they were proving too small fry to claim 
but a minor portion of my talent. 

I had already thought out several titles — a 
most important thing indeed! Now, under 
which of these headings should I write ? Should 
it be "The Wickedness of Willie," "The Irrep- 
rehensibleness of Sissy," or "The Daring of 

There was " The Prognostic atoriness of Pene- 
lope.' ' That word ' ' prognosticatoriness ' ' could 
not be improved upon — as to length. But 
somehow it hadn't the right ring. Then I 



wasn't quite sure as to the kind of character 
I would be expected to make of Penelope. 

No, that title was too, too much. I would 
try something simpler, something which sug- 
gested genuine human interest, as the editor 
men and women say, 

I had just decided on "The Urbanity of 
Benny" when the letter-man deposited a pile 
of mail in the vestibule. My two brothers 
assisted me in conveying the letters to my 
literary den. 

Believe me, if you want to, but all those com- 
munications were from editors, each and every 
one containing a proposal of marriage. 

They had reviewed my books. They had 
seen my portrait! 

It was not so strange after all. 

I proceeded straightway to reply to those 
numerous epistles. I courted fame, not mat- 
rimony. Consequently my replies would be in 
the negative. Moreover, was not each pleading 
missive from a magazine or newspaper editor, 
who at one time or another had rejected many 
of my choicest compositions? 

What opportunity of paying him — all of him 
— back in his own coin? 

I would hug it to my heart ! Not the editor, 
but the opportunity. 

Ah, Mr. James Jones, of The Bi-Monthly 
Gazette! He should have his answer first: 

" Miss St. Clair regrets that the proposal which you 
had the kindness to submit to her does not seem, after 
a careful reading, to suggest you as a suitable candi- 
date for her hand. 

" In determining the availability of a would-be hus- 
band, many other quesions besides literary ability 
have to be considered. Adverse decisions are not 
necessarily based upon intrinsic merit. A candidate 
unsuited to the requirements of one woman may fre- 
quently come within the policy of another. 

" Miss St. Clair esteems it a favor that the present 
proposal has been submitted to her, and wishes to as- 
sure you that it has received a thorough and impartial 
consideration. So many aspirants are awaiting re- 
plies, it is quite impossible for her to offer special 
criticism in every instance ; but it is only just to the 
writer to say this refusal of him is in no way a reflec- 
tion upon his excellence. It is merely an expression 
of opinion regarding his availability." 

The editor of The Aurora Boreallis must be a 
lovely man, I felt sure. I would let him down 
gently, as he had me on more than one occa- 

*' I regret to disappoint you to the extent of return- 
ing, enclosed, the proposal you have been good 
enough to submit for my consideration. I sometimes 
feel sorry to refuse a gentleman who has been declin- 
ed by other ladies, and often find that those I have 
declined are accepted gladly by others. 

"Owing to the verv large number of communica- 
tions received, I find it impossible to offer criticism or 
point out causes of unavailability. I beg, therefore, to 
be excused. Very truly yours, Octavia Cather- 

wood St. Clair." 

It did not take me a minute to write my 
next letter of refusal : ' ' Returned with thanks . ' ' 
I enclosed my card along with this and the 
affectionate declaration with which the editor 
had seen fit to honor me. 

That was to the terse man of The Pelican. 
How I gloated ! He would see I could be terse, 

I was a little more generous to the next one : 

"I regret that the proposal forwarded does not 
prove available for my consideration. To write a 
lengthy letter of explanation with every returned 
communication would require more time than a popu- 
lar woman has at her disposal. I am always glad to 
read proposals. The fact that you have not met my 
requirements does not argue that you would not be 
successful with some other lady. Respectfully, 
"The Author of ' The Unsophisticatedness of Theo- 
dosia ' and the ' The Undoing of Christopher.' " 

For brevity, my reply to the heartless editor 
of Cupid's Weekly surpassed all previous 
records : ' ' Respectfully declined. ' ' 

I hope he enjoyed it. I did. 

I would like to see the face of the editor of 
The Dasher as he perused the following. I 
wonder how its familiar echo would strike him : 

" Your offer of marriage has been carefully consid- 
ered; but I regret to say that I can find in my affec- 
tions no place for you. The enclosed proposal is re- 
turned for one of the following reasons: 

" It may be couched in careless language. 

" It may be too florid. 

"It may be lacking in sufficient human interest, 

" It may be morbid or tragic. 

"It may be overstocked with a supply of similar 

"In all instances proposals should possess the ele- 
ments of love. 

" They should not exceed 4,000 words in length, nor 
contain fewer than fifteen. 

" Aspirants who may wish to have their proposals 
returned in case of non-acceptance must enclose re- 
turn postage. I will not be responsible for any com- 
munication not thus accompanied. 

" Sensible of the honor you have done me, and hop- 
ing you may meet with acceptance elsewhere, I am. 
Yours truly, " Octavia Catherwood St. Clair." 

There were yet several hundred letters to be 
answered. How could I find time to accom- 
plish such a tremendous task ! I wheeled round 
in my chair in order to the better think it out. 

At this juncture something dropped to the 

It was my album of rejected slips— sufficient 
cause for a worse dream than this from which 
I had just awakened. 

And the rejection slip joke is still on me. 

How sad, the dissolving into impalpable 
ether of "The Unsophisticatedness of Theodo- 
sia" and "The Undoing of Christopher!" 

Alas! for "The Sleepyheadedness of Octa- 
via ! ' ' — Young's Magazine. 


On Book Criticisms. simply because of the fact that while to many 

Book criticism has become a very prevalent ^?^^ .f^^M^'^^^V ^^^'Vxf^- ^*^"^V r /""'"^""^^ \^"^^ 
vice. Every one does it-even the football- ^^^^"^- / he value of this sort of book review- 
game reporter. Naturally enough, as for all J"^ "^"'^ ^^'^ ^li^'!^\ 7°" ^^5 reverence for 
things universally manufactured, easy methods ^^^ reviewer Robert Louis Stevenson, by a 
have been invented. The very easiest is to ^^""^f °! sentence, has taught many a mortal 
write the review without reading the book. ^^ ^^^^^^^ ^" ^^^ choruses of Samson Agonistes. 
Doubtless this method has been in vogue How many of us would have realy loved Cole- 
longer than we reahze, but certainly some ten l!'^^^: , °^^!!^^ „ J^^ /"S?^ ""T^' 
years ago so estabhshed a critic as Mr. Andrew ^^''^\^^''!'\ ^tv I fT\-'''' ^T^S f"""" 
Lang dealt with his book by saying: "I have Gray without Arnolds help? Simonds Pater, 

not read, . Being repelled by the ex- ^™°^^' Swinburne, Saintsbury have, by cnti- 

ceedingly ugly design on the covers, I did not J?f"^\ T^^^f. ."^^"^ ^''}'}fj''\ exploration; 

open them." The covers in this instance their book criticisms are still books of criticism. 

chanced to have been designed by Mr. Aubrey harper s W eekly. 

Beardsley, and one can fancy the amazed dis- ^ ^. .«, -3 . _,, - . 

gust which these drawings at first excited. It *i«gcne hicid s ^'ocms in Photographic 

must have equalled the popular feeling about Facsimile, 

Blake. In England, where the fault of the Collectors of rare editions of Eugene Field's 

average man is that of takmg himself and his . . .„ , ^ . 

business too seriously, Mr. Lang's airy repudia- writings will soon have an opportunity to add 

tion of anything verging upon a sense of re- a choice item to their treasures. The poet's 

sponsibility must have amounted almost to two sons are preparing a new edition of "The 

a witticism. In this country it would be Love Songs of Childhood," which will be unique, 

found to have a less potent charm, because so j^^^ng the last months of his life Field wrote 

entirely m the manner of the young girl lust ^ . ,., ^-rn 1 -^^i 

out of school, who feels that nothing matters °^^ ^^ ^'^ beautifully clear script the poems 

now, so long as she has amusement enough, comprising this volume, with a view to their 

Here this method lacks novelty. reproduction and publication. The new book 

An equally interesting way of dealing with will be a complete replica of these manuscripts, 

an author is that adopted recently by a re- without a word printed in type. It has been 

viewer m one of our own best reviews, in ^ ^^^^^^ ^^ considerable difficulty to find the 

dealing with a book of serious art criticism. , . . , , . . -^ , 

The reviewer says simply: "We are obliged to necessary bits of handwritmg to make up the 

confess, that lacking the required knowledge title page, but Roswell Field has searched 

. . . and sympathy, it may be . . . much through his brother's letters and papers until 

of . . . book is incomprehensible to us." he has at last unearthed the precious words 

This way is candid and straightforward, and from the beloved hand that wrought with such 

might even be serviceable as a self -revelation painstaking care. Pages nine by seven inches 

if only the author's name were signed, but, in dimension will allow handsome margins, 

alas! it is not. Otherwise we might set down without necessitating any reduction from the 

on the tablets of memory, "Mr. , of the originals, and the paper and binding are to be 

staff of , knows nothing of art and ad- in keeping with the dignity of the undertaking. 

mits it; skip his art criticisms henceforth." The edition will comprise 500 copies, of which 

But only to know that an unknown reviewer twenty -five will be on vellum, 

knows nothing of art and says so is waste No modem author can compare with Field 

knowledge. in legibility of copy. Every letter he put on 

A third method of book criticism is to rely paper was perfectly formed, every word as clear 

entirely upon the interests of one's personality, as copperplate, every indentation of space 

This is a method readily learned and much in properly apportioned, and even in the heads 

vogue. A well-known contributor who makes he preserved the ideals of the old Venetian 

it his business to know of English books deals printers as to relative proportions. Those who 

thus with Miss Keat's last volume: "It must are fortunate enough to possess original drafts 

be my fault, but I can't read the book with of his work are extremely few in number, as 

any pleasure. Her stories are to me tiresome the manuscripts are jealously guarded by the 

and unattractive. I mention this not because family, and the great rarity of specimens of his 

it is of the slightest consequence whether I like autograph enhances the desirability of the forth- 

Miss Keat's stories or whether I do not, but coming book. 



By R.icKakrd Henry StoddaLrd. 

I remember seeing the manuscript of Haw- thing he wrote for that periodical — at least so 

thome's " Blithedale Romance" lying on Mr. I was assured by Mr. Priestly, a fellow Cen- 

Fields's desk in the old Boston book-shop at turian of strict veracity. I have also some- 

the comer of School and Washington streets, where among my Poe material a letter of Mrs. 

That was in the summer of 1851, when besides Clemm, and two or three letters of her daughter, 

the person just mentioned, I met Mr. E. P. Rosa MacKenzie, for whose benefit I was 

Whipple, the critic, and Colonel Thomas Jeffer- given a check for $100, which, by the advice 

son Whipple, whom Hawthorne had sum- of a Baltimore gentleman acquainted with the 

moned to Salem to supply him with accurate family, I sent to her in separate instalments 

information for his "Life of President Pierce." of $25 each. 

Hawthorne had at this time just begun writing Hawthorne was different. I never heard 

this campaign document, which his good that anybody dared send him unearned money 

friends and bitter enemies called his "new while he was surveyor in the Salem Custom 

romance." From Boston, Colonel Whipple, House, or at any other time of his life. He 

Mr. Fields and Young Master Stoddard pro- was a man who stood well on his own feet. I 

ceeded by rail to Salem, where we found the received several letters from him — one written 

Hawthorne family at dinner in a parlor on the just before his death in his fifty-ninth year, 

left side of the hall. Hawthorne himself sat Another letter, which he wrote after finishing 

at one end of the table and I took my place at the "Tanglewood Tales," I may copy out 

his right hand, sipping with him a glass of here. It will show the estimate Hawthorne 

weak claret. His daughters, Una and Rose, himself placed on these children's books which 

and his son Julian, were also at the table, many persons overlook when they sum up the 

After dinner Hawthorne took me up the measure of his work: 
well-known hill behind his home, where we 

chatted a while in a little summer house on the Dear Stoddard— I beg your pardon for not 

summit of this eminence, talking particularly writing before; but I have been very busy, and 

i.i- 1 •- 4.-DiT?^ not particularly well. 1 enclose a letter irom 

about his early associates at Brook rarm — .^. ^^ ■□ i< , -i _ , ^f „ ^ „, 

P^ r f- 1 T?- 1 Atherton. Roll up and pile up as much ot a snow- 

Uana, Uurtis and Kipley. ball as you can, in the way of political interest; 

On my second visit to the Wayside no one f^j. ^here never was a fiercer time than this, among 
was present when I talked with Hawthorne the office-seekers. You had better make your 
except his boy, Julian, who, then eight or ten point in the Custom House at New York, if possi- 
years old, would meddle with pens, ink and ble; for, from what I can learn, there will be a 
paper, to the annoyance of his father. A poor chance for clerkships in Washington. ... I 
stronger cigar than I was used to sent me out have finished the "Tanglewood Tales," and tliey 
of doors to cool off. After a walk in the chilly will make a volume about the size of the " Wonder- 
November wind I returned to Boston and book," consisting of six my ths-the Minotaur, the 
thpnrp ramp to New York Golden Fleece, the Story of Proserpine, etc., etc., 
thence came to iNew York ^^^ ^^^^ .^ excellent style, purified from all 

Hawthorne s first inspiration was Mrs Rad- ^^^^^ stains^ recreated as good as new or better, 

chffe s Mysteries of Udolpho, the weird tales ^^^j f^i^y gq^^i ^^ ^heir own way, to Mother Goose, 

of "Monk" Lewis, and his impossible melo- l never did anything else so well as these old baby 

dramas, in which Poe's mother appeared, in stories. 

1 80 1, as a chambermaid, singing and dancing. In haste, truly yours, 

As for Poe, I have many unpublished letters Nath. Hawthorne. 

of his, and also, among others, some written — The Independent. 

to him by Mrs. Whitman, who, with others of 

Poe's female cronies, thought she was the --. j nn ' 

original "Annabel Lee." Poor Poe! He ^^^V ^"^ Marion. 

abused all who served him — Griswold, John During a visit of Marion Crawford to New 

Sartain and Mrs. Kirkland, the last of whom York (1902) he met at a social function Miss 

showed me the printed manuscript of " Ula- Mary E. Wilkins. The lady said something 

lume," which did not impress me much, as I pleasant about a recent novel of his. Smiling 

frankly told her. That poem appeared soon and bowing, he asked: "And do you write, 

afterward, I think in the Whig Review. Poe's Miss Wilkins?" They do say she was abso- 

needs compelled him to accept $10 for every- lutely too surprised to reply. 



By Ernest A. SaLva^ge. 

In thinking of Pepys as the owner of a library hath, and Hght enough, — though indeed it would 
we get at once to the side of his character which be better to have a httle more Hglit." 
made his Diary possible. "Judge a man by The books are arranged according to size, 
his books" is an old saying, sometimes true, so that the first is the smallest and the last 
often untrue. But Pepys' collection, to be the largest. As mentioned above, some have 
seen now at Cambridge practically as he left been raised to line on with their neighbors by 
it, is truly a character sketch of him. In the means of gilded slips of wood. To save space 
most obvious fashion it shows what a finick . they have been stacked in double rows, the 
and precisian was he who brought it together, small volumes being stood in front of the larger 
The normal owner of two or three thousand in order that the titles of all may be seen with- 
volumes would know them (that is to say, out trouble In this order they were numbered , 
bibliographically) almost by heart, but Pepys and (the expanding notation of modem libra- 
must arrange and re-arrange, number and re- rians being then unknown) continual accessions 
number, catalogue and re-catalogue, ticket and to the collection threw the numbering out : 
re-ticket before he can feel satisfied that they thus they have been re-numbered at least five 
are wholly at his command. " To my chamber, times. Each volume is carefully book-plated. 
and there to ticket a good part of my books The plates are of three kinds, two bearing his 
in order to the numbering them for my easy portrait, the third a monogram of S. P. and 
finding them to read as I have occasion." two anchors; the motto in each case is. Mens 
This bespeaks the man with a mania for writing cujusque is est quisque, with the name Sam. 
things down, simply for the sake of precision Pepys Car. et lac. Angl. Regih. a Secrelis Ad- 
and actuality. Some of the volumes, too, miraliae. 

stand on slips of wood to make their tops line Our Diarist's library is rather the library of 
on with the others ; apparently our fastidious the antiquary and the curiosity-monger than of 
Diarist could not tolerate a too-ragged align- the student or man of letters. Perhaps the 
ment of his shelves. Again, the mixed char- part of his collection in which he took most 
acter of the collection tells us of the " snapper- pride was the series of prints and drawings 
up of unconsidered trifles" which the Diary illustrating the topography of London, now 
suggests, the lack of any purpose save the (with some additions by his nephew) contained 
pursuit of the interesting, which the Diary also in two folio volumes, and the portraits of half- 
records. Or again, the copy of Rochester's forgotten worthies contained in four folio vol- 
" Poems," falsely lettered "Rochester's Life," umes. Another important collection, which 
a book which he at one time expressed shame was Bishop Percy's chiefest source for his 
at keeping in his collection, recalls the hypoc- "Reliques of Old English Romance Poetry," 
risy of the man, so often shown in his Diary, is five folio volumes of Old Ballads, quite the 
Such are a few signs of the human interest largest series of broadsides of this kind ever 
which every lover of Pepys must find in the collected. In the first volume is a note in the 
room at Magdalene College. Diarist's hand : 

The Bibliotheca Pepysiana comprises about . j^^ collection of ballads, begun by Mr. Selden, 

three thousand volumes, shelved m eleven jmprov'd by the addition of many pieces elder 

carved mahogany bookcases, the makmg of thereto in time; the whole continued to the year 

which the Diarist noted with approval on 1700, when the form till then peculiar thereto, 

August 24, 1666: vizt, of the black letter, with pictures, seems (for 

"Up and dispatched several businesses at home cheapness sake) wholly laid aside, for that of the 

in the morning, and then comes Sympson to set white letters, without pictures." 
up my other new presses for my books, and so he Qf black-letter printing there are many and 

and I fell into the furnishing of my new closet, ^^^^ specimens. Had he made a point of 

and taking out the things out of my old, and I kept collecting early printed books— it is a thousand 

him with me all day, and he dmed with me, and •• ^^ ^.^ not-Cambridge might have 

so all the afternoon till it was quite dark hanging ^ j ^ n x- t t,- f- r> 

things, that is my maps and pictures and draughts^ possessed a fine collection. In his time Cax- 

and setting up my books, and as much as we tons and Wynkyn de Wordes were of little value 

could do, to my most extraordinary satisfaction; and easily obtained. At Dr. Francis Bernard's 

so I think it will be as noble a closet as any man sale in 1698, five years before Pepys' death, 


the prices of Caxtons ranged from eighteen the true bibhographer's neatness and accuracy; 

pence to four shilhngs and twopence. In and the administrator' love of an orderly and 

Pepys' collection there are nine Caxtons, eight "get-at-able" arrangement of his possessions. 

Pynsons, and nineteen Wynkyn de Wordes; And having formed his collection he had a 

among the first being "The Game and Playe librarian's unconquerable aversion to its dis- 

of the Chesse" (1475), of which ten copies only persal. He designed — early designed — to be- 

are known; "The Book of the Ordre of Chyv- queath it to the public use. True, it was left 

airy or Knyghthode" (1483-85), a very rare in the first place to his nephew, John Jackson, 

and valuable work of which only four copies but only on condition that it was kept intact, 

are known; "Thymage or Mirrour of the and that, at Jackson's death, it was handed 

Worlde" (1481); "The Chastysing of Goddes over to one of the private colleges of either 

Chyldren" (1491?); "History of Reynart the of the Universities, preferably Magdalene at 

Foxe" (1489), the only copy known, wanting Cambridge. So to Magdalene it eventually 

two leaves; "The Chronicles of England" came, and our gossip takes rank with the 

(1480); and the first and second editions of the numerous benefactors who have helped to 

"Canterbury Tales" (1478? and 1484?)- But make the Universities what they are. 

what (if genuine) is the most valuable of Cax- 

toniana is an autograph translation by the u it. j ^t. u « f r» 

printer himself of the tenth to the fifteenth Hawthorne and the Homesick Boy. 

books of Ovid's " Metamorphoses" ; it bears A story is told of the way in which Nathaniel 

the inscription, "Translated and fynysshed by Hawthorne, when he was consul at Liverpool, 

me WilHam Caxton at Westmestre." tested a Yankee boy. The boy had gone to 

Especially interesting also are a series of ^^^ ^^^^^y^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^ ^^ ^ ^^^ ^ 

news-pamphlets from January, 1659-60, to Jan- , , ,. , tt , -i f -■ ■■ 

uary, 1665-66 ; the collection of Scottish poetry ^^^k to his home. He had gone abroad to seek 

formed by Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington ; his fortune, and, not finding it, had become 

collections of old novels, "Loose Plays," "Vul- almost penniless. 

garia," and shorthand books. As may be sup- He told a clear story, but the clerk who 

posed books on naval matters, geography, ^^^^^ -^ doubted its truth, 

hydrography, and allied subiects form an im- <<^r » ^ ^ ■ ,, ■, •-,,,, 

portant part of the library. Noteworthy treas- ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ American, he said to the 

ures are the original "Libro de Cargos as to ^oy; but the applicant for a passage to America 

Provisions and Municons of the Proveedor of persisted in waiting at the office tmtil he saw 

the Spanish Armada, 1588," in two thick folio Hawthorne himself, 

volumes, written in Spanish; a fine series of ^^^ last the consul appeared, gave a quick 

sea tracts; and the pocket books of Sir Francis , +4.1, v, ^ -u 4. ^.-u- 

p. , \ J ^f glance at the boy and began to question him. 

uraice ano james 11. h-\t a'^diii 

Pepys, indeed, prided himself on the material You want a passage to America ? he asked, 

he possessed relating to his office. He even "Yes, sir," said the boy, eagerly, 

compiled a bibliography, " Bibliotheca Nautica, "And you say you're an American?" 

1695: Catalogue of Authors (the completest I "Yes, sir." 

can arrive at) upon the art and practice of "In what part of America were you bom?" 

navigation, with a chronological Catalogue of "The United States, sir." 

the most eminent mathematicians of this "What State?" 

Nation, Antient and Modem, to the year " New Hampshire, sir." 

1673." _ ^ "What town?" 

Pepys was a model librarian. He had "Exeter, sir." 

some funny prejudices, but he did not allow Hawthorne waited a moment, and then bent 

them to stultify that peculiar instinctive knowl- toward the boy. 

edge of what a library should contain which "Who sold the best apples in your town?" 

the true librarian always has. The chances are he asked. 

that quite half of his possessions were never The boy's eyes shone, and the homesick 

read or even seriously referred to by him ; the longing in them deepened, 

best literature would appeal unavailingly to a "Skim-milk Folsom, sir!" he cried, 

man of so little imagination, but he must " It's all right," said Hawthorne to his clerk, 

nevertheless have what he could of it in his "Give him his passage." And he shook the 

collection, and of course, quite characteristi- boy's hand . and bade him Godspeed on his 

cally, in handsome bindings. Moreover, he had homeward way with much heartiness. 



By FreLi\cla Thompson. 

In Mr. W. E. Henley has passed away a gedly broken, abruptly and bafflingly discon- 

brilliant man of letters, a distinguished poet tinuous — in the racy Shakcspcrean phrase, nook- 

and essayist, who never gained (how should he shotten — which juts forth innumerable Ijold ])ro- 

in this our day?) his due recognition from the jections, and is breached as brusquely with 

dormant many, while' from the bright and alert countless ragged fissures. The projections are 

few he was accorded eagerly almost more than the keen saliences of Mr. Henley's righteous 

his due recognition. By the intellectual flower perception ; the fissures the startling rifts and 

of young England, so much of which passed unforeseeable lapses in that perception. When 

under his personal influence and control, he he has carried you off your feet with his in- 

was worshipped the other side of idolatry. To evitable rightness, he is most like to stagger 

all these, to those who clustered round the de- you back to them by his wilful and confident 

fiant banner of the National Observer, and to wrongness. For like Ruskin, to whom he is 

most young minds for whom literature mat- the antithesis in many things, he is always cer- 

tered exceedingly in those days, Mr. Henley tain, and never more certain than when he is 

was the Viking chief of letters, whom all de- most unsafe. 

lighted to follow, whose praise alone mattered, He is not, therefore, a critic to whom you 
whose example set the mark for rejoicing emu- can placidly yield yourself ; but he is a critic 
lation. It was often hard in those days (how- invariably pungent, vital, arresting; who ear- 
ever clear the distinction may have become ries you on by storm and shock, whose mis- 
since) to tell the work of the gifted follower judgments are more stimulant than other men's 
from that of the magnetic master ; and proba- correctness. Since the force of his statement is 
bly it was the nearest thing which English so great that you are electrified into protest 
letters has seen to the zealotry of the French against his error, and the necessity of protest 
Romantics for the magisterial ascendance of compels you to think. You cannot remain in- 
Victor Hugo. different before this meteoric reviewer. 

Whether Mr. Henley were greater in prose And that comes not alone of his mental 

or verse it would go hard to say: though one vigor and individuality, but of his marvellous 

may surely foretell that the perdurable quality style. It is a style artificial, after its kind, as 

of poetry will in the end take revenge for its that Goliath of the Philistines, Macaulay; yet 

tardier instant appeal. Yet, because brilliant so pulsating with impulsive energy that want 

English and brilliant critical impressionism of nature is the last thing you have breath to 

(appreciation is the commodious word for it) think of. A world of cultured study has gone 

do make some swift appeal to all with any to the forging of the weapon; bickering with 

lettered sense, we may consider first the prose epigram and antithesis, glittering with the 

of this man with the rare dual gift. Whichever elaborate research of phrase which betokens his 

way you take him, the genius is unmistakable, poetic discipline, poised shapen in its sentences 

Appreciation (briefly) resides in attempting to with the artful and artistic hand of a consum- 

discover what your author has aimed to com- mate master ; yet the fire, the off-hand virility 

pass; and then setting forth the impression of the man enable him to wield it with all the 

yourself retain of his success or failure to sue- ease and nature imaginable. It glances with 

ceed in the elected aim. It is obvious that the swift and restless brilliance of a leaping 

your achievement will be very much in the salmon in sunlight. Mr. Henley's style has 

ratio of your sympathetic gift ; as that is lim- almost every quality, in fact, except repose 

ited your achievement will be limited, as that and the powers dependant on repose — dignity, 

is comprehensive your achievement will be com- for instance, or simplicity ; just as his criticism 

prehensive, as that is subtle or delicate your misses the crowning excellence of sympathetic 

achievement will be subtle or delicate. Now completion and the balance which comes of 

Mr. Henley's sympathy is a thing very far calm judgment. But had he these qualities we 

from comprehensive ; yet it were merely unjust should not have our Henley : they are scarce 

to call it narrow. It is wide, and heartily wide, compatible with the arrowy scintillation and 

but defective — curiously, unexpectedly, per- reinless elan of his writing. In his most char- 

versely defective. It is comparable to the acteristic and high wrought passages antithe- 

Scottish coast; an ample coast line, yet jag- sis, epigram, audacious paradox fly like scud 



on the racing wave of the sentence. With all 
this, though Mr. Henley learned many of his 
arts from France, he is ever male, sinewy, and 
English in essential quality, bearing his British 
heritage in the bones of his style. 

With such character, and such executive 
power to manifest it, he is naturally best where 
he is most one at heart with the man he criti- 
cises (for the overwhelming bulk of his scant 
and treasurable prose-work consists of reviews 
— pregnant and brief) . Out of the various and 
cosmopolitan critiques in " Views and Reviews " 
(chiefly French and English, however) one 
would pick as triumphant and magisterial Hen- 
ley such things as the Labiche, Rabelais, Ber- 
lioz, Hugo, Meredith, and Disraeli. Perhaps 
specially the last three : they have all the very 
qualities and defects which might endear them 
to Mr. Henley. Disraeli, for instance. The 
unconventional Tory appeals to the unconven- 
tional Tory ; the master of antithesis, epigram, 
and paradox to a master of epigram, paradox, 
and antithesis; the brilliant unrest of the one 
to the brilliant unrest of the other ; the states- 
man's intolerant scorn of commonplace to the 
writer's intolerant scorn of commonplace ; even 
the masterful egotism of Disraeli to a certain 
masterful egotism in Henley. You would ex- 
pect a victorious "critique," and you have a 
victorious critique. There are no lacunce in 
judgment; the reviewer is with his subject to 
the marrow; and you have the very Henley 
at his best. Flashing insight, keen unravelling 
of vices from merits, language rejoicing in its 
own point, purity, and ebullience of resource- 
ful strength. Elsewhere you stumble over fads, 
blindnesses, wilful crochets. In such essays 
as we have named, you are left to unhindered 
enjoyment and wonder. 

As a poet, Mr. Henley falls into two chief 
periods. He gained fame with "A Book of 
Verses," and mostly with two sections of it; 
the "Hospital Poems," because nothing like 
them had been known in English, the " Bric-a- 
Brac," because very much like them was known 
in English. The latter fell in with a dominant 
fashion, the imitation of the artificial forms of 
old French verse; the former set a fashion. 
The "Hospital Poems" were in a style drawn 
from French exemplars ; but (as we have said) 
it was a style unexampled in our own poetry, 
and had the immediate success of novelty in 
addition to that justly earned by the power of 
the verse itself. Novelty is by no means a 
usual poetic advantage in England, but in this 
case the novelty was of a kind universally com- 
prehensible; it lay in assimilating poetry to 
prose — and that blessed day of the Lord 

when poetry shall be prose is a consummation 
for which the great heart of the British public 
ever yearns. In so far as it colorably resembled 
prose, Mr. Henley's Hospital experiment was 
therefore inevitably popular; in so far as it 
distinctly, and none the less, remained poetry, 
the public did not know that — did not nose 
the contraband ware, and allowed it to pass 
unsuspectingly. With a leaven of sonnets, these 
poems are in rhymeless lyric metres of various 
shapes, fashioned with cunning originality, for 
their peculiar function and peculiar content. 
Often but slightly more than squared and 
measured-off prose in their movement, they fit 
exactly the realism of the style, which admits 
a larger infusion of every-day and colloquial 
idioms or diction than poetry had ventured on 
before. The marrow of poetry is subtly pre- 
served by the exceeding fitness and closeness 
of phrase, the intimacy of emotion; while the 
expression arises at need into the higher reaches 
of poetry. 

Only Mr. Henley had the secret of this pecu- 
liar combination; which after all, while (apart 
from the sonnets) the shape looks so formless, 
is really dependent on an admirably sure in- 
stinct of form. The marvellous sonnet descrip- 
tive of Stevenson (which is in the style of the 
Hospital poems, though it has but an accidental 
connection with them) is really as much matter 
of perfect form and phrase as the Bric-a-Brac 
poems, which are avowed exercises in the most 
artificial kinds of form. Hence it is not sur- 
prising that Mr. Henley's success in these is 
perfect as in the rugged realism of the Hospital 
section. They are handled with a lightness, a 
deftness, which naturalizes this alien and un- 
natural form as few of its English devotees 
have succeeded in doing. The Ballade "Of a 
Toyokuni Colour- Print" with its refrain, "I 
loved you once in old Japan" — sketched with 
sparing, graceful lines which are themselves 
Japanese in quality : 

Clear shine the hills; the rice-fields round 
Two cranes are circling; sleepy and slow, 
A blue canal the lake's blue bound 
Breaks at the bamboo-bridge; and lo! 
Touched with the sundown's spirit and glow, 
I see you turn, with flirted fan, 
Against the plum-tree's bloomy snow . . . 
I loved you once in old Japan! 

That, or the Double Ballade "Of Life and 
Fate," as sprightly and charming a dance of 
words as may be penned in its gay trifling, 
show what a master of verse at play was the 
stem poet of "In Hospital," with its manner 
and metres grim, bare, and saturnine in severe 
structuralness as the Hospital itself. 

Scattered through this volume were strains 



of a higher mood, suggesting a more inward 
poetry than the rest. But, as a whole, this 
•first book showed Mr. Ilenley as a poet after 
the GalHc fashion, which (at least till very 
recently, and regarding the general type of the 
national genius) is, like that of the Greeks, 
rather an artistic than a poetic fashion of song. 
The French poetic genius has always depended 
for excellence on formal and structural perfec- 
tion, has been a chiselled and craven thing. 
The same reliance on a severely architectural 
perfection marked the Greek poetry: so that 
Heine said there was more poetry in Shake- 
speare than in all the Greek poets together, 
except Aristophanes. English poetry, on the 
contrary, is the ideal of a poetry completely 
distinguished from art, depending on an inward 
and indescribable spirit which perhaps (though 
the word breeds confusion, yet for lack of a 
better) we may call the romantic spirit. Mr. 
Henley's first book belonged to artistic and 
Gallic poetry, an objective thing, a thing of form 
and carving. But the "London Voluntaries" 
showed him as an absolutely English poet. He 
had attained a far higher poetry, full of the 
romantic spirit, which animated and formed 
the form instead of depending on it. Need 
we say that (as a matter of course) the new 
book failed of the popularity gained by the 
earlier? The poems called "London Volun- 
taries" were the most patent sign and result 
of this poetic advance; it is on these and the 
lyrics which companioned them that Mr. Hen- 
ley's final fame will most surely rest. They are 
in so-called "irregular" lyric metre, ebbing and 
flowing with the emotion itself. Irregular it is 
not, though the law is concealed. Only a most 
delicate response to the behests of inspiration 
can make such verse successful. As some per- 
sons have an instinctive sense of orientation 
by which they always know the quarter of the 
East, so the poet with this gift has a subtle 
sense of hidden metrical law, and in his most 
seeming- vagrant metre revolves always (so to 
speak) round a felt though invisible centre of 
obedience. Mr. Henley has the sense fully. In 
these "Voluntaries" a rich and lovely verbal 
magic is mated with metre that comes and goes 
like the heaving of the Muse's bosom — 

The ancient river singing as he goes 
New-mailed in morning to the ancient Sea. 

Or again : 

The night goes out like an ill-parcelled fire, 
And, as one lights a candle, it is day. 

Such things as these are obvious and clamorous 
beauties. But the exquisitely textured and re- 
motely magical passages which cannot be shut 

up in a line or two— these we dare not begin 

t(j quote, lest we make no end. We might 

venture with: 

The still, delicious night, not yet aware 
In any of her innumerable n(!sts 
Of that first sudden i)lash of dawn, 
Clear, sapphirine, luminous, large. 

But the passage broadens into beauty, drawing 
us on, and we have to stoj), feeling we have 
been guilty of mere mutilation. Mr. Henley's 
sense of words, and gift of conveying the in- 
most feeling of a scene, is in these poems su- 
preme. And what shall one say of "The Song 
of the Sword," which rings like the cry of the 
Viking Raven fluttering her wings for battle? 
What of little lyrics like " You played and sang 
a snatch of song"? It conveys the very regret 
of " old, unhappy, far-off things." In this book 
Mr. Henley, artist to the last, has touched the 
inner springs of poetry. If his leading trait is 
a ragged strength and faithfulness to the thing 
seen or known, such as looks from his bust by 
Rodin, he has also the capacity for sudden in- 
timacies of beauty or feeling which is the birth- 
right of strength. Not much more gravely and 
poignantly tender has been written than the 
rhymeless lyric, "When you wake in your 
crib," while the minor lyrics cover a very va- 
rious range of quality. From the direct truth 
of " In Hospital " to the gates of romance in the 
later book, you have measured a compass very 
unique, and this romance is drawn from the 
stony ground of London. Perhaps, indeed, it 
is as the poet of London that he will best be 

Mark Twain^s Clever Apology. 

When Harriet Beecher Stowe was alive, 
Mark Twain, who lived near her, had a way of 
running in to converse with her and her 
daughters, often in a somewhat negligee cos- 
tume, greatly to the distress of Mrs. Clemens. 

One morning as he returned from the Stowes's 
sans necktie, Mrs. Clemens met him at the door 
with the exclamation: "There, Sam, you have 
been over to the Stowes's again without a neck- 
tie. It's really disgraceful the way you neglect 
your dress!" Her husband said nothing, but 
went up to his room. A few minutes later 
Mrs. Stowe was summ^oned to the door by a 
messenger, who presented her with a small 
box neatly done up. She opened it and found 
a black silk necktie, accompanied by the follow- 
ing note : " Here is a necktie. Take it out and 
look at it. I think I stayed half an hour this 
morning. At the end of that time will you 
kindly return it, as it is the only one I have. 
Mark Twain." 



By D. C. Solpp. 

If there ever is a time in a book-collector's 
life when he may be accounted divinely happy, 
it is certainly when he receives a consignment 
of old books from a second-hand dealer. There 
is a pleasure to be derived from buying books 
sight-unseen which he who purchases from a 
catalogue alone knows how to enjoy. An order 
is no sooner placed than he begins to anticipate 
its arrival, and when at last it appears his 
ecstasy knows no bounds. With what trans- 
ports does he cut the strings that bind the 
package, how eagerly he thrusts aside the 
wrapper, and with what thrills of delight does 
he seize the treasures he has procured. In just 
such a parcel we once found a tight little set 
of "Hurd's Cowley" bound up in two duo- 
decimo volumes. 

They were in excellent state of preservation, 
and satisfactory in every respect, having been 
published in 1777 by Thomas Cadell, who then 
did a thriving business on the Strand. 

The fly leaf of the first volume was embel- 
lished with the following autograph : 
"Miss Wood 

with Wm. Lowndes' 
best regards." 
Now the name of William Lowndes is dear 
to the memory of all good bibliophiles. Along 
back in the "thirties" he compiled the "Bib- 
liographer's Manual" which collectors join in 
pronouncing a work of inestimable value. It 
is to this author that Eugene Field so pleasantly 
refers in the "Bibliomaniac's Prayer," as he 
does likewise in "Dibdin's Ghost," the poem 
he recited at the " Saints' and Sinners' Comer" 
on New Year's Eve, 1890. There was also 
another William Lowndes, an American by 
birth, who after being educated in England 
represented South Carolina in Congress for 
twelve years and who died at sea in 1822. 
Which of these departed worthies transcribed 
the autograph above referred to, we have never 
been able to decide, and consequently we are in 
about the same predicament as is an old friend 
of ours who has a penchant for collecting 
mementoes of celebrities. He once was given 
a silver quarter by an American General, 
which, for safe keeping, he immediately de- 
posited in his trousers' pocket. Not long after 
he took it out to examine, but imagine his 
chagrin when he found three other quarters in 
the same pocket. Even to this day he has 
been unable to decide which was the General's 
gift, and yet he still preserves all four of the 

coins, in the hope that the secret will leak out 
at the great Millennium, when all dark mys- 
teries will be unraveled. But pardon this di- 
gression. Like a schoolboy we have been 
chasing butterflies and forgotten what we set 
out to do. To return to Mr. Cowley. He was 
bom in the great city of London in the year 
of our Lord one thousand six hundred and 
eighteen. "His parents," says Sprat, "were 
citizens of virtuous life, and sufficient estate; 
and so the condition of his fortune was equal 
to the temper of his mind, which was always 
content with moderate things." 

He learned to read at a very early age, and 
of the first book he perused he gives us this 
entertaining account. 

"I remember when I began to read, and to take 
some pleasure in it, there was wont to lie in my 
mother's parlor, Spenser's works; this I happened 
to fall upon, and was infinitely delighted, with the 
stories of the knights, and giants, and monsters, 
and brave heroes, which I found everywhere there, 
and, by degrees, with the tinkling of the rhyme 
and dance of the numbers. I think I had read 
him all over before I was twelve years old, and 
was thus made a poet." 

An eminent English essayist claims that of 
all the persons who read the first canto of 
Spenser, not one in ten reaches the en 1 of 
the first book, and not one in a hundred 
reaches the end of the poem. In view of 
this fact, Cowley should be complimented on 
undertaking such a formidable task. At the 
age of thirteen Cowley entered as a student at 
Trinity College, Cambridge, and some years 
later transferred to Oxford University, where 
he remained until the opening of the Civil War. 
He then espoused the cause of the royal party, 
attended the King on several expeditions of 
importance, and accompanied her Majesty the 
Queen-mother, when she was forced to retire 
to France. 

On his return to England, he was imprisoned 
by the usurpers and only regained his liberty 
by promising a thousand pounds bail, which 
was guaranteed by Dr. Scarborough, the emi- 
nent physician. When Charles II. returned to 
the throne, Cowley retired to a little village on 
the bank of the Thames, where, supplied with 
a bountiful estate and an abundance of leisure, 
he devoted his time to study. Not long after 
establishing himself in this retreat he says in 
one of his letters to John Evelyn : 

"I never had any other desire so strong and so 



like to covetousness, as that one whicii 1 have had 
always, that I might be master at least of a small 
house and a large garden, with very moderate 
conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate 
the remainder of my life only to the culture of 
them, and study nature." 

This mode of life did not come up to his 
expectations after all, for after trying it for 
a while he w^rites: 

"I thought when I first went to dwell in the 
country, that without doubt I should have met 
there with the simplicity of the old poetical golden 
age. I thought to have no inhaVntants there, but 
such as the shepherds of Sir Phil. Sydney in Arca- 
dia, or of Monsieur d'Urfe upon the banks of Lig- 
non; and began to consider with myself, which 
way I might recommend to posterity the happiness 
and innocence of the men of Chertsey; but, to 
confess the truth, I perceived quickly by infallible 
demonstrations, that I was still in old England, 
and not in Arcadia, or La Forrest; that I could 
not content myself with anything less than exact 
fidelity in human conversation, I had almost as 
good go back and seek for it in the Court, or the 
Exchange, or Westminster Hall." 

Covi^ley was rather dissatisfied with the 
world and many of his productions are tinged 
with melancholy. The gloomy scenes enacted 
at the Restoration seem to have left an indeli- 
ble impression on his mind. 

Modem biographers pronounce Oliver Crom- 
well a hero, but Cowley viewed him in a differ- 
ent light, as will be seen from his description 
of the protector's funeral. 

"It was the funeral day of the late man who 
made himself to be called protector. And though 
I bore but little affection, either to the memory 
of him, or to the trouble and folly of all public 
pageantry, yet I was forced by the importunity 
of my company, to go along with them, and be a 
spectator of that solemnity, the expectation of 
which had been so great, that it was said to have 
brought some very curious persons as far as from 
the Mount in Cornwall, and from Orcades. I 
found there had been much more cost bestowed 
than either the dead man, or indeed death itself 
could deserve. There was a mighty train of black 
assistants, among which, too, divers princes in the 
persons of their embassadors were pleased to at- 
tend. The hearse was magnificent, the idol 
crowned, and the vast multitude of spectators 
made up, as it uses to do, no small part of the 
spectacle itself. But yet, I know not how, the 
whole was so managed, that methought it some 
what represented the life of him for whom it was 
made; much noise, much tumult, much expense, 
much magnificence, much vain -glory; briefly a 
great show, and yet after all this, but an ill 

Cowley evidently was cheerful occasionally, 
for he once wrote a comedy, and on several 

occasions amused him.self by translating some 

of Anacreon's lively odes, one of which we 

here insert. 

"The thirsty earth soaks up the rain 
And drinks, and gaps for drink again. 
The plants suck in the earth, and are 
With constant drinking, fresh and fair 
The sea itself, which, one would think 
Should have but little need to drink. 
Drinks the thousand rivers up, 
So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup. 
The busy sun (and one would guess, 
By's drunken firey face, no less) 
Drinks up the sea; and when he'as done. 
The moon and stars drink up the sun. 
They drink and dance by their own light, 
They drink and revel all the night. 
Nothing in nature's sober found, 
But an eternal health goes round. 
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high. 
Fill all the glasses then; for why 
Should every creature drink but I, 
Why, man of mortals, tell me why?" 

Those interested can compare this translation 
with Tom Moore's version of the same ode 
which latter we believe is the neater of the two. 

As Henry Taine's analysis of Cowley's writ- 
ings will perhaps give us a better idea of the 
poet's work than can be found elsewhere we 
here transcribe a portion of it : 

"Abraham Cowley, a precocious child, a reader 
and a versifier like Pope, and who, like Pope having 
known passions less than books, busied himself less 
about things than about words. He possesses all 
the capacity to say whatever pleases him, but he 
has precisely nothing to say. The substance has 
vanished, leaving in its place an empty form. In 
vain he tries the epic, the Pindaric strophe, all 
kinds of Stanzas, odes, short lines, long lines; in 
vain he calls to his assistance, botanical and phil- 
osophical similes, all the erudition of the university, 
all the recollections of antiquity, all the ideas of 
new science; we yawn as we read him. Except in 
a few descriptive verses, two or three graceful ten- 
dernesses, he feels nothing, he speaks only; he is a 
part of the brain After reading two hun- 
dred verses you feel disposed to box his ears." 

It is thus that Taine humorously disposes of 
Mr. Cowley, but Dr. Johnson concludes his re- 
view of the poet in a more dignified manner. 

"It may be affirmed, without any encomiastic 
fervor, that he brought to his poetic labors a mind 
replete with learning, and that his pages are em- 
bellished with all the ornaments which books could 
supply; that he was the first who imparted to 
English numbers the enthusiasm of the greater 
ode, and the gaiety of the less; that he was equally 
qualified for sprightly sallies, and for lofty flights; 
that he was among those who freed translation 
from servility, and instead of following his author 
at a distance, walked at his side; and that if he 
left versification yet improvable, he left likewise 
from time to time such specimens of excellence as 
enable succeeding poets to improve it." 



Pope considered Cowley a fine poet in spite 
of his faults, but says that he borrowed his 
metaphysical style from Donne. 

We learn from the same source that "when 
Cowley grew sick of the Court, he took a house 
first at Battersea, then at Barnes ; and then at 
Chertsey, always farther and farther from 

" In the latter part of his life he showed a sort 
of aversion to women; and would leave the 
room when they came in. 'Twas probably 
from a disappointment in love. He was much 
in love with his Leonora ; who is mentioned at 
the end of that good ballad of his, on different 
mistresses. She was married to Dean Sprat's 
brother, and Cowley was never in love with 
anybody after." Editions of Cowley's poems 
were very numerous for a space of thirty years, 
many of which were spurious, according to his 
statement in the preface to the copy in our pos- 
session. He declaims very loudly against this 
imposition, and says it would have been better 
if the plagiarists had put forth some of his writ- 
ings under their own names, rather than their 
writings under his. He then continues : "From 
that which has happened to myself, I began to 
reflect on the fortune of almost all writers, and 
especially poets, whose works we find stuffed 
out, either with counterfeit pieces, like false 
money put in to fill up the bag, though it add 
nothing to the sum; or with such, which, 
though of their own coin, they would have 
called in themselves, for the baseness of the 
alloy; whether this proceed from the indiscre- 
tion of their friends, who think a vast heap of 
stones or rubbish a better monument than a 
little tomb of marble, or by the unworthy 
avarice of stationers, who are content to di- 
minish the value of the author, so they may 
increase the price of the book; and like vint- 
ners, with sophisticated mixtures, spoil the 
whole vessel of wine, to make it yield more 

He then goes on to say that he would like 
to have a chance to prune and lop away some 
of the things in Shakespeare, Ben Johnson and 
Fletcher, all three of which he considers too 
voluminous. Posterity has reason to feel 
thankful that he did not have this opportunity. 

According to Spence, Cowley died at Chert- 
sey; and his death was occasioned by a mean 
accident, whilst his great friend Dean Sprat 
was with him on a visit there. They had been 
together to see a neighbor of Cowley's, who 
(according to the fashion of those times), made 
them too welcome. They did not set out for 
their walk home till it was too late; and had 
drank so deep that they lay out in the fields 

all night. This gave Cowley the fever that 
carried him off. 

Sprat does not mention this incident in his 
biography of Cowley, but says that the poet's 
body was attended to Westminster Abbey 
by a great number of persons of the most emi- 
nent quality and followed with the praises of all 
good and learned men. — The Honey-Jar. 

FicIding^s Last Newspaper. 

In the month of December, 1751, when 
Henry Fielding issued his last novel of 
"Amelia" — that "Amelia" which Johnson, de- 
spite his dislike to the author, read through 
without stopping — he was close upon forty-five, 
and had not long to live. For three years he 
had been in the Commission of the Peace for 
Middlesex and Westminister, earning, "by com- 
posing; — instead of inflaming, the quarrels of 
porters and beggars," and "by refusing to take 
a shilling from a man who, most undoubtedly 
would not have had another left," rather more 
than £,2)^0 per annum of the "dirtiest money 
upon earth"; and even of this a considerable 
portion went to Mr. Brogden, his clerk. He 
also received — he tells us in "The Journal of a 
Voyage to Lisbon," — "a yearly pension out of 
the public service money," the amount of 
which is not stated ; and he was, in addition, as 
appears from his will, possessed of twenty 
shares in that multifarious enterprise, puffed 
obliquely in Book V of "Amelia," the Universal 
Register Office, which was Estate Office, Lost- 
Property Office, Servants' Registry, Curiosity- 
Shop, and several other things besides. He 
lived at Bow street, in a house belonging to his 
patron, John, Duke of Bedford, which house, 
during its subsequent tenure by his brother 
and successor, John Fielding, was destroyed by 
the Gordon rioters; and he had a cottage or 
country-box on the high road between Acton 
and Ealing, to which he occasionally retired, 
and where, in all probability, his children lived 
with his mother-in-law, Mrs. Daniel. It was 
at this date, and in these circumstances, that 
he projected the fourth of his newspapers. The 
Covent-Garden Journal, concerning which the 
following notice is inserted at the end of the 
second volume of "Amelia," coming imme- 
diately after an advertisement of the Universal- 
Register Office: "All persons, who intend to 
take in The Covent-Garden Journal, which will 
be certainly published on Saturday the 4th of 
January next, Price 3d, are desired to send 
their Names and Places of Abode, to the above 
Office, opposite Cecil street in The Strand. 
And the said Paper will then be delivered at 
their Houses." 



By Gera>.Idine Bonner. 

For some reason, Calif omians have never glowing in the colors o\ life. 1 behind his 
been enthusiastic over Bret Harte. I may put figures he has "washed in" uncounted hack- 
it differently, and say they have never appre- grounds that exhale the scents of wood and 
ciated him. He is less known in the State, and plain, and shine with a blinding blazonry of 
among the people he wrote of, than in distant blue and gold. The solemn precipices and 
lands, under alien skies, among other races, serried ranks of pines of the high Sierras have 
One could find no better example of the dis- been described by him, as no one else has been 
dained prophet in his own country. There are able to describe them. The form and appear- 
parts of the civilized globe where all the name ance of the rude camps scattered on the river 
of California suggests is Bret Harte ; where the bars, with the murmuring of the current on the 
Golden State would have remained an unknown shallows, and the sea-like music of the swayed 
and uncared for Ultima Thule had the hand pine-tops sounding above the strife of men, has 
that wrote "The Luck of Roaring Camp" and been dashed on canvas after canvas. The dim 
"The Heathen Chinee" never held a pen. hushed aisles of the redwood forests have 

I have tried to extract from the intelligent found in him — ^and only in him — one who 

Califomian what he finds objectionable in the could make them live on paper in a few graphic 

one author of genius his State has produced, words. 

As a rule, my investigations are rewarded by Any one, with imagination, who had never 
finding that most Califomians are curiously entered the State of California, could form a 
ignorant of the productions of their one liter- fair estimate of its surface aspect, its exterior 
ary star. Few people that I have met here beauty, from a perusal of a few random volumes 
have really read Bret Harte. Their main ob- of Bret Harte. No other author has ever been 
jection to him seems to be that, according to able to realize and capture its wild and mag- 
their lights, he has misrepresented them. They nificent luxuriance of outward seeming. Even 
say there were never any miners like Stumpy, as he grew older, a little careless, the first 
or stage-drivers like Yuba Bill, or girls like splendid fountain of his inspiration grown slow, 
M'liss, or gamblers like John Oakhurst, from and sometimes near dry, he could call up the 
Baja California to Modoc. Bret Harte in- smell, the air, the glitter of leafage on a side 
vented it all, they complain, and then sent it hill, the cool blue shadows of some aerial canon, 
forth to the world as California, and as such in a sentence that seemed to slip unnoticed 
the world has ever since accepted it. It is a from the tip of his pen. Take, for example, 
bitter pill to the people of the Golden State the description of the ledge on which Flip and 
to think that New York may still imagine the her father lived, where, at mid-day, the bal- 
double of Tennessee's Pardner is to be found samic odors of the trees below rose like a hot, 
in the mining-camps, and that San Francisco's intoxicating incense; the forest in " In the Car- 
prominent citizens bear a family resemblance quinez Woods" — at which, by the way, some 
to Colonel Starbottle, of Siskiyou. one here took exception because there never 

Their indignation at what they regard as were any Carquinez Woods — the wooded slopes 

im justifiable misrepresentation has made them of the foothills in "A Phyllis of the Sierra," 

overlook one point in the works of Bret Harte the vast and changing miracles of sea and sun 

which should endear him to all California in "The Man at the Semaphore." One could 

hearts. Whether he has depicted the native go on enumerating examples by the dozens, 

son or daughter as they exist, he has certainly culled here and there from vagrant memories in 

depicted California — the California he knew — • this endless panorama of uniquely beautiful 

as she was then, and as, in many ways, she backgrounds, 

still is. If one turns to his poems, one finds the same 

His stories and poems fairly reek with the extraordinary delicacy in depicting the moods 
atmosphere of the great State which passes and varying faces of the nature he loved, com- 
"from lands of sun to lands of snow." From pressed into the smaller space of the measured 
the heated canons of the Sierra, steaming under line. The poems are not so rich in color, as 
the sun's rays, to the yellow stretches of the he had not the long white page of the story on 
parched inland valleys, heavy with the scent which to paint his picture with prodigal unre- 
of tar-weeds, and dotted with the shadows of straint. But such descriptive lines as he in- 
live oaks, he has painted scene after scene, dulges in are radiantly illuminating in their 



presentation of bits of California scenery — 
vignettes of mountain and plain, of desert and 
garden that, read by one who has once lived 
here, would call back fragrant and superbly 
tinted views only to be had between the Sierra 
and the sea. 

He touches on the mountains here and' there ; 
in a verse interpolated in the heart of a romance 
in rhyme, or an anecdote in dialect. He began 
his exquisite "Dickens in Camp" with four 
graceful and lovely lines that call up an in- 
effaceable picture: 

"Above the pines the moon was slowly drifting; 

The river sang below; 
The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting 

Their minarets of snow." 

' And in "Her Letter" he makes old Folins- 
bee's daughter remind her lover of the night of 
the dance in Harrison's Bam, and 

"Of the moon that was quietly sleeping 
On the hill when the time came to go; 
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping 
From under their bedclothes of snow." 
In a horribly grotesque and savage poem, 
called "The Hawk's Nest," he gives a picture 
of the view from a trail creeping along a moun- 
tain flank that would reveal California, with- 
out word of explanation or comment, to one 
who had ever felt its imperious spell : 
"We checked our pace — the red road sharply round- 
We heard the troubled flow 
Of the dark olive depths of pines, resounding 
A thousand feet below. 

"Above the tumult of the canon lifted, 

The gray hawk breathless hung; 
Or on the hill a winged shadow, drifted 

Where furze and thorn-bush clung; 
Or where, halfway, the mountain-side was furrowed 

With many a seam and scar; 
Or some abandoned tunnel dimly burrowed 

A mole-hill seen so far." 

One of his most charming poems, the romance 
of that Concepcion de Arguello, who loves so 
sadly and so faithfully, is full of lines that 
depict the shifting beauties and eccentricities 
of nature around the San Francisco bay of that 
past epoch. After the Russian lover had left 
"the deep embrasures where the brazen cannon 
are," the commandante s daughter watched and 
waited for him through the fluctuating seasons : 
"Day by day on wall and bastion beat the hollow, 

empty breeze — 
Day by day the sunlight glittered on the vacant 
smiling seas." 

There is a verse that contains the very most 
secret and elusive essence of the San Francisco 
summer. "Hollow, empty breeze!" Could 
there be a description of the trade-wind better 
than that? That hollow, meaningless wind, 
which has none of the wooing softness of a 

breeze in any other part of the country, and 
none of the boisterous joy of the wild gales 
that Shelley loved, but is just a cold, hard, 
dutiful wind that blows from twelve to five 
because it has to, and not because it takes any 
joy in blowing, and is altogether as disagree- 
able and unlovable and unsympathetic as a 
New England conscience. 

Conchita continued to stare out of the for- 
tress windows and wait through the long, dry 
summer, watching the phenomena of the grow- 
ing drouth. 

"Week by week the near hills whitened in their dusty 

leather cloaks, 
Week by week the far hills darkened from the fringing 

plain of oaks." 

The fortress looked out toward Angel Island 
and Tiburon, and so we can see, as if we were 
there ourselves, exactly the view that poor 
Conchita's desolate eyes gazed on. Then the 
autumn came, and by and by the rains. The 
first warm flood of the early winter 

"Dashed the whole long coast with color, and then 
vanished and were lost." 

What a picture again in those few words: 
"Dashed the whole long coast with color!" 
Can not we see the green coming over the 
parched hills in a soft rush like the sudden 
suffusion of red on a blushing face ? And then, 
deepening and growing clearer and richer with 
every shower, till the coast glowed like a piece 
of enameling, and the deserted Spanish girl 
watched on, year by year, at this shifting of 
seasons : 

"... wet and warm and drear and dry; 
Half a year of clouds and flowers — half a year of dust 
and sky!" 

"Half a year of dust and sky!" Combine 
that with "the hollow empty breeze" and you 
have San Francisco from June to September 
in a sentence! 

Of the woods — the wonderful woods of Cali- 
fornia, enormous melancholy relics of the be- 
ginnings of the world, old when Moses was 
crossing the Red Sea, hoary when Job sat 
among the ashes and wondered at the myster- 
ious ways of God — Bret Harte has written but 
little in his poetry, and not a great deal in his 
prose. Here and there in the former there is, 
however, a charming descriptive line or two. 
Like the Yosemite, the almost awful silence 
and mystery of these great groves, still the 
tongue and pen of man, too small to speak 
before their majesty. Once he thus alludes to 
the cathedral-liice aisles of one of the forests : 

"I see the Indian files that keep their places in the 

dusty heather, 
Their red trunks standing ankle deep in mocassins of 

rusty leather." 



And there is a short but dainty poem of the 
mandrono — that typically Californian tree, not 
awesome like the giant sequoia, nor weird and 
terrible like the Monterey cypress, but a sort 
of sylvan coquette in its gayety of burnished 
leaf and smooth red trunk. In a burst of ad- 
miration for its feminine, neat prettiness, he 

"When the fervid August sun 
Scorches all it looks upon, 
And the balsam of the pine 
Drips from stem to needle fine 
Round thy compact shade arranged, 
Not a leaf of thee is changed!" 

In the poem on San Francisco, nature is used 
symbolically, and yet with what a close under- 
standing — a sort of photographic clearness of 
vision — of the aspect of the "lion's whelp'' 
cowering by the sea in the jungle of spire and 
mast. This — to my thinking one of Bret 
Harte's most beautiful poems — contains an un- 
forgettable picture of the sinful city hiding in 
the mantle of her fog: 

"Wrap her O Fog, in gown and hood 
Of her Franciscan brotherhood. 

"So shall she, cowlM, sit and pray 
Till morning bears her sins away." 

— The San Francisco Argonaut. 

First Edition of Burns Brings $5,000. 

Five thousand dollars was given a day or 
two ago in London for a little paper-covered 
book of 240 pages, with the name of an obscure 
country publisher on its title page. But the 
volume was the first edition of " Burns' Poems," 
and the purchasers were the Bums' cottage 
trustees — facts which make the vendor not ex- 
actly sure that he asked enough for his treasure ! 
Another purchase secured by the trustees is 
Lord Byron's copy of Burns, daintily bound for 
the poet-peer's library with his coroneted " B" 
upon its dainty boards. 

Burns and Byron! What queer contasts; 
what strange similarities ; what heart-burnings, 
passions, and powers gather about the two 
names! The plowman with his rustic manners 
and broad Ayrshire tongue, only saved by the 
$100 the blue-paper-covered book brought him 
from sailing to the Indies as a bookkeeper on a 
slaver's plantation. Then fame, such sudden 
fame as has fallen to few save Burns — and 
Byron! " The country murmured of him from 
sea to sea." 

They have cut the legend, "The Poet of 
Mankind," upon his statue in Dumfries. And 
when one remembers how his words are on 
lovers' lips and make the cradle lullaby, how 
they link hearts to home the wide world over, 
and "return through open casements unto 
dying ears," the daring claim seems justified. 

Burns died miserable, despairing, worn out 
before his time. The last lines he wrote were 
a request to a cousin for a loan of £10, that he 
might not die in a goal. And they l)uried him 
as a peasant is buried, where the humble gray 
stones of the parish kirk chronicled names as 
simple as his own. That is the story of the 
seven and thirty years of the life of Robert 

Seven-and-thirty years were given also to 
Byron — years in which he, too, touched the 
depths of misery and mounted the heights of 
fame. Bums the plowman, Byron the pecr^- 
it is often all the same the song that they sing, 
for it is the "voice that has taken all hearts 
because it is the breath of their own." 

If Bums is quoted by the long wash of Aus- 
tralasian seas, Byron is the companion of the 
German thinker, the Hindu gentleman, the, 
educated freeman, from the Ganges to the Rio 
Grande. He died on the shores of the Greece 
he loved and crowned ; and they bore him back 
to Westminster for sepulchre. The story of 
that strange funeral has often been told — one 
wonders what its fate would have been to-day. 

But perhaps it is better that Byron lies in 
the little vault in the dingy mining town they 
have built over the Newstead acres once so 
green and fair. Few visit his tomb to see the 
dilapidated marble which scarcely hides the 
coffin, and the poor faded wreath of bay which 
some stranger had taken the trouble to lay 
upon the floor. 

That was years ago. Things are made at 
least decent now; but that grave at Hucknall 
is solitary still. Eulogies, chaplets, relics, ap- 
preciations, are lavished upon Bums, and his 
countrymen make a sort of cult of his memory. 
After all it matters little. 

It is what they felt and what they said that 
makes the two men great, and their true mem- 
orial is the undying legacy they have handed 
down to us — to us who echo their words every 
day in our lives, often scarcely knowing we are 
"quoting." — "M. S.," in Chicago Journal. 

National Similarities. 

In "Outre Mer," Paul Bourget declared 
that "life can never get entirely dull to the 
American, because whenever he can not strike 
any other way to put in his time, he can 
always get away with a few years trying to find 
out who his grandfather was." To which 
Mark Twain replied: "I reckon the French- 
man's got his little stand-by for a dull time, 
too, because when all other interests fail he 
can turn in and see if he can't find out who his 
father was." 



She was a dear young thing with peach-and- 
cream complexion, fluffy hair and a pink shirt- 

"Yes," she said. "I write for the papers 
and I'm looking for Bohemia. That's what 
my story's going to be aboiit, you know. I've 
climbed up Russian Hill (this was in San 
Francisco) — had an awful time, it's so horri- 
bly steep. 

^ "Why did I go there? O well, I have a 
friend who told me he had read a story about 
chafing dishes and cigarettes on Russian Hill, 
so I thought that must surely be the place ; but 
after I had climbed up there I saw nothing 
but common, everyday houses and a good view 
of the bay. I didn't think it was the right 
place; anyhow, it wasn't on my list. 

"Now, where do you think I went next?" 
she asked, assuming a professional air as she 

"Can't imagine, unless you went to the Bo- 
hemian Club." 

"No, I didn't go there. They're not really 
Bohemians — O, I beg pardon! Do you belong? 
But that's what my brother said — and he's an 
artist — does perfectly lovely crayon portraits. 
Well, I went down on Montgomery street, 
climbed two flights of rickety stairs in the 
awfulest old building, and was just going to 
knock when I saw some fish net and Chinese 
lanterns at the head of the next flight. Now, 
you know, I thought to myself: 'This looks 
better; I won't knock; I'll go up there.' 

" But I must have made some sort of noise, 
because the door opened before I could get 
away, and I saw the funniest man. He wasn't 
a man, either — looked more like a boy. His 
hair was long and bushy — I guess he didn't 
comb it any too often — and he wore an old red 
sweater that sagged down at the neck, and 

"What did he say? Oh, yes — I told him 
who I was, and he asked me to step in and rest. 

" I wasn't a bit afraid. He was only a boy, 
and besides, we newspaper women get used to 
such things, and I'm beginning to feel like an 
old hand now. You see, this is my third story. 

" Well, I went into the room, and you should 
have seen it. It was dark and gloomy — walls 
all spotted and streaked and the floor fairly 
covered with papers, old sketches and trash 
of every description. He said he was a sort 
of artist. There was a big black and white 
painting over by the window, but he wasn't 
working on it; said he had been trying but 
couldn't do anything to-day, so was glad I 
happened in to amuse him. Now wasn't that 
rude? I thought it was, and I told him so. 
I said monkeys and parrots were amusing, but 

I — ^I was interesting. I didn't exactly say 
that, but I don't think I'm amusing; do you? 

" I asked him, just for fun, if he had a chafing 
dish. You see, all the time I was thinking of 
my story. He said that in his circle frying 
pans were chafing dishes. I saw right away 
that I was wasting my time there, but he was 
kind of interesting — so funny, you know. Said 
he was going to be great some day. He wanted 
me to pose for him, and said I would make an 
excellent Diana. Say, was she pretty? My 
hair isn't red, is it? 

"Well, we were getting along nicely when 
we were interrupted by a crowd that sounded 
like a regiment coming up the stairs. They 
rushed in without knocking, five of them, two 
of them girls. 

" Now, of course it's none of my affair, but 
I don't think it was just right for them to be 
up there, do you? To be sure, they were nice 
and awfully jolly, but then it doesn't look right. 
Why, what would people think if they knew! 

"They said they had seven big lake trout 
that Doctor Somebody had sent down from 
Tahoe, a gallon of paint — whatever that is — 
and six loaves of French. They were going to 
have a feast to celebrate the arrival of the fish. 

"One of the boys started to clean out the 
grate so they could build a fire, but it had been 
stopped up for no one knew how long. They 
didn't worry over it. One long-haired blonde 
fellow said he'd borrow an oil stove, and an- 
other went up stairs to get some knives and 
forks; the girls took off their jackets and one 
rolled up her sleeves and went to washing some 
dishes she found in a cupboard. I was just 
crazy to help, but I didn't know just what to do. 

" Pretty soon I heard the pounding on the 
stairs again and the two boys came back, one 
carrying a little oil stove and a coffee pot and 
the other loaded with a lot of old dishes in 
addition to the knives and forks he had gone 
after. Another girl came in with them. She 
was kind of pretty, but I didn't like her nose. 
They introduced her as Clarisse, the greatest 
model living! Now you know that I am not 
one bit prudish, but I thought it was about 
time for me to go. If one is an artist, I sup- 
pose models are all right, to paint ; but to talk 
with them and dine with them, never! 

"When I told them that I was sorry, but 
that I should have to leave them, they all said 
that it was really too bad, and all that sort of 
thing — but you know, I realized that if I 
wanted to find Bohemia I must stick to Bo- 
hemia and not idle away my time on things 
foreign to it. 
— Overland Monthly. 



By V. de L. C. 

If anyone should assume from the above retailed at high figures by collectors of rare 
title that anyone, and least of all the writer, and valuable volumes. It may be asstmied 
imagines that the literature of prints can be that all intending collectors are acquainted with 
dealt with, or even feebly indicated, in a single such classics as Ottley's " History of Engrav- 
article, he or she would be most woefully mis- ing," Bartsch's " Le Peintre Graveur," and 
taken, and would also entirely misunderstand Hieneken's " Ide^ G6n6rale," with Evelyn's 
the purport of the present paper. The idea "Sculptura" and Dibdin's masterly " Biblio- 
is not to grapple with so vast a subject, or to theca vSpenceriana " and "Decameron," with 
seek to instruct the practiced collector, but to Jackson & Chatto's " History of Wood Engrav- 
give to those who long to enter upon the fas- ing," and others equally well-known and rich 
cinating study of prints, some notion of the in value; but these works are not usually 
books to read, which will help them upon a available save at good public or private libra- 
difficult and thorny way. It is the daily ex- ries or at collectors, and the student of art has 
perience of experts to be questioned as to how not, necessarily, a long purse or leisure for 
to ascertain this, and how to decide that, and study away from business. He wants books 
whether this print is valuable, or that is a copy, that are modern ; books up to date ; books 
simply because the applicant is at a loss to that he can, if he chooses, afford to buy; books 
know where to find a guiding hand to direct that he can study with advantage at any and 
him in the art he loves but has not mastered, every odd hour, and find in them friends to 
This is no fault of his. Joseph Maberly, in the whom he can refer in moments of emergency, 
preface to his first edition of "The Print Col- As mention was made at first of Joseph 
lector," dated 1844, tells how when he first be- Maberly, the author of "The Print Collector," 
gan collecting, he was totally ignorant of all it is only fair to let him head the list, but though 
that is to be learned on the subject; he had a his work is valuable, it is not readil}'' met with, 
love for works of art, but had seen nothing There is an American edition, with large addi- 
but what shop windows displayed, had no tions, edited by Robert Hoe, Jr., which also 
friend competent to instruct him, and, being contains Fielding's "Treatise on the Practice 
conscious of his ignorance, was diffident of ask- of Engraving," and this book is published as 
ing strangers. Reading did not help him much, recently as 1880, by Dodd, Mead & Co., of 
for he could not apply the wholly technical in- New York. Maberly gives valuable hints to 
formation conveyed, and, as a consequence, he the intending collector; how to commence and 
found in a few years, when he had grown in to select specimens, information as to selection 
knowledge, that he had amassed a multitude of prints, and the prices and cost thereof — 
of prints, which were neither worthy of being though prices, it may be mentioned, are as 
kept nor capable of being disposed of, except variable as the wind — a chapter on books of all 
at what he calls a comparative loss. nations dealing with prints, and a host of inter- 

I quote this frank confession of an admitted esting and instructive matter. Excellent as 

expert for two reasons: first, because his ex- this book is, it leaves much unsaid that would 

perience is exactly similar to that which most have been well mentioned, and it is not so 

beginners are finding out for themselves every readily procurable as some, so we may pass on 

day, and secondly, because it is a justification to later and more easily purchasable volumes, 

for the appearance, of an article intended only Before, however, proceeding to the considera- 

to point out to beginners where they can obtain tion of absolutely modern books, appreciative 

the information they require, and which will notice must be given to "An Introduction to 

save them many heart burnings and much hard the Study and Collection of Ancient Prints," 

cash. As it would be obviously impossible to by WilHam Hughes Willshire, M.D. (London: 

note all the works on the history of engraving Ellis & White, 1877), which is a standard work 

and concerning the engraver's art, and as, more- of reference, but which has the disadvantage 

over, many of these books are not, as Maberly of being too exhaustive and critical, from an 

found, of first help to the would-be collectors, historical point of view, to be quite an ideal 

I propose to deal chiefly with standard modem guide to the young collector. There is in it 

works, which can be purchased and studied at an admirable chapter on "Advice to the Study 

leisure, rather than with those which are sel- and Collection of Ancient Prints," which de- 

dom to be found except in public libraries or serves the closest attention; but Willshire de- 



votes himself chiefly to the debatable points 
connected with the history of engraving, which 
he handles with rare ability, and although, 
from this standpoint, his work is indispensable, 
yet, for the beginner, it is too diffuse to be val- 
uable for ready reference. Moreover, the 
print collector will find it advisable to study 
modem as well as ancient schools, and to keep 
his eye on the rising generation of artists, and 
he will find little to help him here in Willshire's 
manual, admirably argued and thoughtfully 
considered as it most undoubtedly is. 

I turn, therefore, to the consideration of ab- 
solutely modem works designed for the use of 
those who, filled with a love of art, are yet not 
experts, and who are groping in the mist of 
uncertainty. These are, as Tennyson puts it, 

" Like children crying in the night. 
Like children crying for the light, 
And with no language, but a cry." 
To their rescue comes Mr. Alfred Whitman, of 
the Department of Prints and Drawings at the 
British Museum, with his "Print Collector's 
Handbook" (London: Geo. Bell & Sons, 1902), 
who starts by warning the intending collector 
of what he has to learn before ever he can be 
fitted to become a judge of prints. It is a 
formidable curriculum that he enunciates, one 
that shows that to become a master of this in- 
tricate subject, even after years of training, is 
about as easy as it is to win a Double First or 
blossom out as Senior Wrangler. Mr. Whitman 
lays it down that the beginner must commence 
by acquiring a knowledge of the peculiarities 
of various styles of engraving, and learn whether 
a print is line, stipple, mezzotint, or etching; 
must understand who painted the original; 
what were the personal and artistic peculiarities 
of the engraver or etcher; if the subject be a 
portrait, who was the person portrayed; and 
if a sacred representation, must know where 
the original is to be found. Here, then, is set 
forth the work of the true collector, who is as 
far removed from the person who approves an 
engraving because it is "nice," as is the north 
from the south pole. The collector loves the 
art for the art's sake, the average buyer cares 
nothing for this, because he knows nothing 
about it. But there is more to be done. Next, 
according to Mr. Whitman, the beginner must 
learn all about the principal engravers, their 
style, and the kind of work they did, and where 
they lived; and then, when he has mastered 
these details, he will begin to find them sorting 
themselves into groups and schools, and will 
associate styles of engraving with the places 
where they were most practiced — etching with 
Holland, line engraving with France and Bel- 

gium, and mezzotint with England. He lays 
down the golden rule that, " Not until a general 
rudimentary knowledge of the subject has been 
gained should purchases be made." 

This point settled, Mr. Whitman insists that 
the student must collect with a definite pur- 
pose, and not buy prints haphazard. He must 
make choice of a branch of this entrancing 
subject, and decide, "shall he take a school, or 
a period; a class of prints, such as portraits; 
a method of engraving, as stipple; shall he 
select an engraver, and try to get together a 
complete collection of prints from the works 
he engraved; shall he take a painter and col- 
lect engravings after his pictures; shall he col- 
lect original work, as etching, or translated 
work, as line or rhezzotint engraving; or shall 
he follow the fashion of the hour, and make a 
collection of prints in color?" There is plenty 
of food for reflection in this paragraph, con- 
taining, as it does, sound, if unpalatable, ad- 
vice, and the book is full of equally good mat- 
ter. His chapter on "Hints to Beginners" is 
a masterly piece of work; all the rocks and 
pitfalls are enumerated and described; the 
differences in states and how to detect them 
are set forth; and the book deals separately 
with etching, line engraving, mezzotint, stipple 
and aquatint, woodcuts and lithographs, color 
prints, collector's methods, the money value 
of prints, and describes the Print Room of the 
British Museum. 

Another notable contribution to this subject 
is "Fine Prints," by Mr. Frederick Wedmore 
(London: Geo. Red way, 1897), in which the 
author lays down the axiom that, "Not one 
book, nor even a hundred books, can make an 
expert, can turn the tyro into a practical con- 
noisseur." He is quite right, for experts, like 
poets, are born, not made; but whatever gift 
they may have at birth is only matured by 
practice and constant study. Sight, touch, 
smell — -all are required of the print collector, 
together with historical knowledge and keen 
appreciation of those amiable weaknesses which 
would lead some men willingly to sell us new 
lamps for old. Mr. Wedmore's chapter on 
"The Task of the Collector" should be gripped 
by every student; it is replete with informa- 
tion, and is especially useful where he deals 
with the care and nursing of prints, which, in 
country places, at least, require as much atten- 
tion as children — and often get more. The re- 
mainder of the book is brilliantly written, but 
1 doubt if it is so valuable to the novice as to 
the expert, for whom it was apparently penned, 
for Mr. Wedmore has strong convictions, and 
expresses them freely, which pleases the con- 


noisseur, but is not always good food for the but for the ]:)rescnt these may suffice, but I 

tyro. The same author is responsible for may add that no student should be without 

"Etching in England" (London: Geo. Bell & Slater's "Art Sales of the Year," which is a 

Sons, 1895), a volume which is devoted to a mine of wealth to those who read it rightly, 
survey of "such work as has been wrought in With regret I leave this subject for a time, 

England of the fine and truer kind," and which knowing that the task I essayed to accomplish 

therefore, includes Mr. Whistler and Mr. Legros, is unfinished, wofully lacking and full of sins of 

who labored so long amongst us. It is a omission for which only a volume can atone, 

studious, pleasing work, which does one good As, however, the student of medicine has to 

to read, and which should not be missed. commence with the dry bones of his profession 

I have already insisted that it is impossible, before he is exalted to the inspection and diag- 

within the limits of an article, to deal with this nosis of disease, so must the student of art, and 

large subject in such a way as to adequately especially one who makes a study of prints, 

convey the merits and scope of works to those begin at the beginning and work upwards to 

as yet unacquainted with the literature of this the light. Each volume I have mentioned will 

great subject ; and it is so, but though only the tell him of a dozen others, so that by reading 

fringe is ruined, it must be lifted higher, even one he will obtain fuller knowledge of the liter- 

though space forbids the detail I should like ature of prints. So, little by little, behind this 

to give. Would the student learn of color slight scaffolding which I have reared, a majes- 

prints, let him turn to Mrs. Julia Frankau's tic building may rise, worthy the labors of those 

volume of this name, published by Macmillan, who built it, and dedicated to the imperishable 

1900. Mrs. Frankau probably knows more glory of art. — The Printseller (London). 

about color prints than any living authority, ^ 

and though some affect to sneer at this branch 

of the art, it has a charm which is all its own, Rare Volume by Pcnn. 
and possesses the merit of antiquity to a marked xhe only known copy of Penn's issue of 
degree. Color prints are the holders of secrets "Magna Charta," published in 1687 by the 
which many would like to probe, and if they Bradford Press, is the property of the Meeting 
lack in grandeur, they at least constitute a poj. Sufferings, a representative body of the 
school of the art which it is wrong to try to priends' yearly meeting in Philadelphia. Its 
ignore. "Collector's Marks," by L. Fagan title is " The Excellent Privilege of Liberty and 
(London, Field & Tuer, 1883), is a valuable Propriety; Being the Birthright of the Free- 
manual, and the works on etching are many ^^^ Subjects of England." The copy is not 
and good. Of these perhaps the best are generally open to the public. 
" Dutch Etchers of the XVI Ith Century," by ^he peculiar significance of this book is that 
Laurence Binyon (Seeley, 1895), " Etching and ^ half dozen years after Penn founded his 
Etchers" and "The Graphic Arts," by P. G. colony he wished to have the colonists keenly 
Hamerton (Seeley, 1882), and "Etching, En- realize that they would have to stand for their 
graving and other methods of printing pic- rights in the new country as well as the old, 
tures," by H. W. Singer and W. Strang (Kegan ^here they had been so cruelly persecuted. 
Paul, 1897). A valuable work is "Etching and jj^ ^^.^^g ^j^^g book in order that they might 
Mezzotint Engraving," by H. Herkomer (Mac- i^^ informed on the constitution of their local 
millan, 1892), and high praise is deserved by government and know what were the legal 
" Histoire de la gravure en Maniere Noire," by ^^g^g ^f ^j^g^j. rights as citizens. 
Leon de Laborde (Paris, 1899), while Alfred Curiously enough the only proof there is that 
Whitman has another excellent contribution, .^.j^-g ^q-^]^ ^^s William Penn's is the statement 
"Masters of Mezzotint" (Geo. Bell & Sons, ^n^^Q by Chief Justice David Lloyd in 1728, a 
1898). Students will also find " Dry point, great Quaker leader who was Penn's attorney 
Mezzotint," by H. Paton (London: Raithby, general at the time the book was issued. Chief 
1895), of considerable service. Most of the justice Lloyd was also at that time an intimate 
prominent engravers have books devoted ex- f^end of William Penn and consequently knew 
clusively to them and to their works, which -whereof he spoke. 

anyone can find for themselves by referring to r^^^ volume was reproduced in facsimile by 
their names, and if French prints are wanted, the Philobiblon Club in 189 7|f or a limited number 
one has only to refer to " French Engravers and q£ subscribers. The original volume, however, 
Draughtsmen of the XVI I Ith Century," by rnust always remain the rare thing that it is, 
Lady Dilke (Geo. Bell & Sons, 1902), to find one of the best expressions of liberty under law 
the most recent and masterly exposition of this that the mind of the great founder could con- 
school. Examples might continue to be quoted, ceive. 




Here is a list of the books sold at auction in London during the "season," which may be said 
to have ended last July 30th, which sold for ;^ioo, or more, each : 


1. Dante. Divine Comedy. Folio. 16 by 10^ in. Mor. by 

Le\vis : 

2. Shakespeare. 2nd folio, 12f by Sf in. Old calf 

3. Shakespeare. 3rd folio, 12|^ by 8^ in. Modem russia. . . . 

4. Shelley. Declaration of Rights. Broadside, 14f by 8 in. 
Proposals for an Assocn. 8| by 5^ in. Uncut 

5. Shakespeare. 3rd folio, 13| by 8f in. Russia, by C. Smith 

6. Walton. Compleat Angler. E.P. 12mo, 5 11-16 by 3i in. 

Contemp. English. Black morocco, richly gilt 

7. Shakespeare. 1st folio, 12J by 7| in. Crimson mor., by 


8. Milton. Paradise Lost. E.P. 4to, 7i by 5i in. Orig. 


9. Bums. Poems. E.P. 8vo, 9 by 5f in. Uncut. With all 


10. Alexander de Villa Dei. Doctrinale. 4to, 7| by 5^ in. . 

11. Defoe. Robinson Crusoe. E.P. 2 vols. 8vo, 7^ by 4f in. 

Orig. calf 

12. Dante. Divine Comedy. E.P., with a date. Folio, 11| 

by 8 in. Old English blue mor 

13. Dante. Divine Comedy. Folio, 12^ by 9f in. Half bound 

14. Spenser. Faerie Queen. Parts 1-2. E.P. 4to 

15. Shakespeare. 2nd folio, 13 by 8^ in. 18th century russia 

16. Shelley. Adonais. 4to, 10^ by 7^ in. Orig. blue wrapper 

17. Bible. E.P. in English. Folio. Mor. by Pratt. With all 


18. Book of Common Praj^er. Folio. Old calf. With all faults 

19. Shelley. Queen Mab. E.P. 8vo, 7^ by 4f in., uncut. 

Orig. brown boards 

20. Shakespeare. Merry Wives of Windsor. 4to, 2nd edition, 

28 11. Mor... 

21. Dickens. Pickwick Papers. Orig. parts, wrappers and 

advts. 8vo 

22. Herbert, G. The Temple. E.P. (?). 8vo. Orig calf ... . 

23. Keats. Poems. 8vo, 6| by 4| in. Uncut, orig boards . . 

24. Horffi. Sarum Use. On vellum. 165 11 4to, 9| by 6^ in. 

Old English, red mor 

25. Byron. Hours of Idleness. 8vo, 6 15-16 by 4f in. Russia. 

Lachs half-title 

26. Shakespeare. Rape of Lucreece. 16mo. Unbound . . . 

27. Shakespeare. 4th folio, 14i by 8| in. Calf 

28. Colonna. Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. E.P. Folio, 12J 

by 8 in. Mor 

29. Foxe's Book of Martyrs. Folio, 13 by 8i in. Defective . . 

30. Milton. Of Education, etc., mostly E.P. 4to, 7| by 5^ in. 

Some uncut leaves. Orig. calf 

31. Shakespeare. Richard III. 4to, 6| by 5i in. 9th edition. 

Unboimd. Defective 

32. Lamb, Chas. and Mary. Tales from Shakespeare. 2 vols., 

12mo, 7^ by 4^ in. Entirely uncut. Orig. blue board . 

33. Tacitus. Agricola. On vellum, 8vo, 33 pp 

34. Shakesp(!are. Othello. 4to, 7 by 5^ in. Unbound. Sold 

with all faults 

35. Chaucer. Works. Folio. Sheets uncut and untrimmed. 

Doves white, Morris design 

36. Chettle. Englandes Mourning Garment. E.P. 4to, 7 by 

5 J in. Unbound 

37. Goldsmith. The Vicar of Wakefield. E.P. 2 vols. 12mo, 

Gi by 3 J in. Orig. calf 

38. Hora;. Roman Use. On vellum, 8vo 

Printer or Publisher. 

N. Lorenz, Florence 

T. Cotes, for R. Hawkins 
For P. C(hetwynde) 

I. Eton, Dublin 

For Philip Chetwynde. . . 

T. Maxey 

I. Jaggard and E. Blount 

8. Simmons 

J. Wilson 

R. Pynson 

W. Taylor 

J. Numeister, Foligno. . , 
G. and B. Burschbach . . . 

For W. Ponsonby 

T. Cotes for R. Allot 

(J. van Menteren, Ant- 

R. Jugge and J. Cawood 


For Arthur Johnson. . . . 

Chapman and Hall .... 
T. Buck and R. Daniel, 



For Antoine Verard 

S. and J. Ridge, Newark 
I. B., for Roger Jackson. 
Herringman, &c 

Aldus, Venice 

John Daye 

John Norton 

T. Davison, for Thos. 


Doves Press 


Kelmscott Press 

V. S(ims?), for Thos. 

B. Collins, Salisbury .... 
For Simon Vostre 



1632 .... 
1664 .... 

(1812) . . 





1719... . 

1590-6. . 
1821 . . . . 

1535 . . . . 
1559 . . . . 



1836-7 . . 



1624 . . . . 

1499 . . . . 
1562-3. . 


1629 . . . . 




(1603) . . 


Sept. 16, 


Library or Date 
of Sale. 

Gibson Carmichael 

May 21 

May 21 

Lady Strachey. . . . 

May 21 

June 19 

May 20 


Appleby School. . . . 

May 19 

Gibson Carmichael 
Gibson Carmichael 
Gibson Carmichael 

March 21 

July 29 

June 19 

June 19 

May 21 

March 21 

Kemeys Hart . . . 

May 20 

Taylor-Brown. . . . 

Crowcombe Court 

Jan. 31 

June 19 

May 21 

Gibson Carmichael 
July 29 

June 18 

July 29 

May 20 

March 21 

July 29 

Sidney , 

May 18 

June 18 

Jan. 31 

























Commenting on the foregoing list a writer always-eagerly-sought first folio of vShakespcare 

in the London Daily News says : comes no higher than seventh on a list such as 

No. I was valued at less than half the sum the foregoing demonstrates sufficiently that no 
of the highest-priced book in 1902 — Caxton's good example has been offered during the 
"Ryal Book," circa 1487, bought by an Ameri- period under review. For the fine Dormer- 
can collector for ;^2,225, this being the largest Hunter example, 12 9-16 in. by 8} in., in mo- 
amount ever paid under the hammer for an rocco, by Bedford, now in the possession of 
example from the press of the father of British Mr. Scribner, of New York, £1,7:^0 was paid 
printing. The Dante in the Gibson Carmichael in 1901. Those who possess Mr. Sidney Lee's 
Library, containing nineteen copper plates after Census may like to know that the first folio, 
designs for the Inferno attributed to Botticelli, which brought ;^385 on June 19th, appears as 
came from the Hamilton Palace collection, LXXX. in that Census, and came from the 
1884, at ;^38o, from the Lakelands, 1891, at sale of Birket Foster, the landscapist, in 1894, 
;/^36o, and from the Maglioni sale (Paris), at at ;^255. Two other first folios have publicly 
^^500. Possibly, too, it is the copy which at changed hands since January. On March 21st, 
the Stowe sale in 1848 fetched but ;^5o los. £30$ was realized for that detailed in the post- 
No. 2 marks a phenomenally high price for a script of Mr. Sidney Lee's Census, LXXVHIa; 
copy of the second folio Shakespeare. In and on June 19th the very defective examijle, 
offering it the auctioneer remarked that never Census LXXXVL, made ;^i5o. 
before had he sold a copy " printed by Thomas Indubitably, one of the most sensational 
Cotes for Richard Hawkins, and are to be sold book sale incidents of the season was that which 
at his shop in Chancery-lane, neere Sergeant's raised the two Shelley trifles. No. 4 on the table, 
Inne." At this moment two other copies only to ;^53o. The broadside and the pamphlet 
are said to be known — one in the Lenox were catalogued by John Pearson in 1870 at 
Library, New York, the second in a collection fifteen guineas, and at that sum presumably 
not likely to be dispersed. The idea of direct- were bought by the late Lord Carlingford. On 
ing the attention of collectors to minute varia- the morning after the sale — that is to say, on 
tions on the title page, or, at any rate, of col- May 21st — there appeared in The Daily Nervs 
lectors paying huge additional sums for rare some details of the way in which the celebrated 
variants, is of recent origin. The majority of Declaration of Rights was distributed by 
Shakespeare second folios bear on the title page Shelley and his servant in the West country 
the imprint of T. Cotes for R. Allot, and the during the autumn of 181 2; and for other par- 
finest known copy of this issue is that in orig- ticulars those interested may be referred to The 
inal calf which made ;^540 at the Oxford sale Burlington Gazette for June. The value of 
in 1895. In 1902 several of these 1632 folios, No. 6 was enhanced by reason of its being a 
printed by T. Cotes for John Smethwick, came presentation copy to Francis Foster, whose 
under the hammer, one being valued at £(i()o, name is filled in, maybe in Walton's hand- 
which till May 21st last was a record for a writing, on Page 3. Good copies of scarce 
second folio of any description. No. 3 again works by Milton continue steadily to rise in 
marks the highest price yet realized for this market value as gradually the floating supply 
book. It is commonly asserted that many diminishes. Last year the volume of Elegies 
copies of the third folio edition of Shakespeare containing "Lycidas" as originally printed 
were destroyed in the great fire; in any case, fetched ;^i99, as against ;;^i3 in i860 for a copy 
the work is relatively rare. The £$1^^ paid in described as fine; and coming within the 
May compares with ;^385 realized two years range of our present survey is the best example 
ago for a particularly good copy, 13 1 in. by of "Paradise Lost" offered for sale for at least 
8| in., from which the binder appears to have ten years. By the original agreement Milton 
omitted two leaves. As is well known, there was to receive ;^5 down and £s for each sub- 
were two issues, with separate title pages, of sequent edition of 1,300 copies — not a princely 
the third folio, that dated 1663 being very sum, even when the difference in purchasing 
much scarcer than the other. Unfortunately, power of money be allowed for. On April 26, 
No. 5 has severalleaves cut down and mounted ; 1669, the poet signed the following: "Re- 
nevertheless, it established a record, if we ceived then of Samuel Simmons, five pounds, 
except the third folio in the Hibbert Library, being the second five pounds to be paid men- 
1902, which, containing the 1663 as well as the tioned in the covenant, I said received by me. — 
1664 title page, made ^^755. The fact that the John Milton. Witness, Edmund Upton." "Par- 



adise Lost" was issued at 3s.; in 1678 the 
Manton copy made exactly that sum; in 181 5 
the price asked in the BibHotheca Anglo Poetica 
catalogue was five guineas; in 18 19 the Bind- 
ley copy, with the 1668 title page, made ;^3 9s., 
and was resold in 1858 for £13; Daniel's 
"beautiful" example, in original calf, fetched 
£2^ los. in 1864; and the former record was 
established in 1892, when the Lawrence copy 
brought ;)£i2o. The original manuscript of 
"Paradise Lost" is, we believe, in the posses- 
sion of Mr. W. Baker, of Hertford. No. 9 on 
the table is noteworthy in several ways. The 
late Doctor John Taylor Brown, known not only 
as a physician, but as a writer, a Bibliophile, 
several decades ago bought for is. 6d. on a 
North Country bookstall an uncut copy of the 
now rare editio prince ps of Bums' Poems. It 
lacked the title and the next three leaves, 
however. Years later he paid £16 for an im- 
perfect cut copy, containing the desired leaves. 
These leaves were carefully inlaid by Riviere, 
at a cost of about £^ los., so that Doctor 
Brown's total outlay was ;;^2i iis. 6d., from 
which must be deducted, however, the £/^ 15s. 
realized at his sale in April for the defective 
example, now robbed of its opening leaves. 
The transaction as a whole shows a balance of 
profit of£333odd. It may further be remarked 
that ;i^35o is the highest sum, with one excep- 
tion, yet paid at auction for the Kilmarnock 
Bums. This exception is the Lamb copy, in 
original blue paper wrappers, valued at 545 gui- 
neas in 1898, a volume said recently to have gone 
into a private collection at ;^75o. Although 
not strictly within our present scope, it may 
here be noted that another copy of the Kil- 
marnock Bums, that procured many years ago 
from an Edinburg bookseller by Mr. Veitch, of 
Paisley, has during the past few weeks been 
bought by the trustees of the Bums Museum 
at Alloway for the unprecedentedly high sum 
of ;^i,ooo. Like "Paradise Lost," the Burns 
Poems were issued at 3s., and John Wilson's 
bill for printing the entire edition of 6 1 2 copies 
amounted to ;^35 17s. No. 10 was discovered 
some years ago in the library of the Appleby 
Grammar School by the then headmaster, Mr. 
R. E. Leach, a discovery which has suggested 
to the governors the advisability of having 
other of the old books examined by an expert. 
The Pynson volume antedates by several 
months the book hitherto deemed to be the 
first with a date by this early printer. No. 1 1 
marks the highest price so far realized at 
vSotheby's or other sale rooms for the always 
po])ular "Robinson Crusoe." The Roxburghe 
copy brought £1 4s. in 181 2 ; by 1897 the value 

had risen to £79; in 1902 a copy fetched ^^245. 
No. 12 is a second of the noteworthy Dante 
series in the Gibson Carmichael Library, the 
seventy-five lots of which made ;^i,964. This 
example of the 1472 issue came from the Lake- 
lands collection, 1891, at ;^8o. ;^22i is an ex- 
ceptionally large sum even for a good copy of 
Spenser's never-to-be-forgotten "Faerie 
Queen," as it originally appeared in 1590-6. 
A century after it was first printed the work 
was sold under the hammer for 6s. 2d. ; the 
Dent copy brought 5^ guineas in 1827; the 
Crampton ;^85 in 1896. Of No. 17 no perfect 
copy is known, but that in the Ashburnham 
Library, with part of the map and several 
leaves in fac-simile, made ;(^82o six years ago. 
Similarly, the Ashburnham copy of No. 18 
initially brought ;;^24o, but some faults having 
been discovered it was resold at ;i^i42. When 
all allowance is made for the fresh condition 
of No. 18, the price set against it still remains 
extraordinarily high. An idea of the rise in 
money value in Shelley rarities can be gained 
in no better way, perhaps, than by stating 
that at the Hanrott sale, 1834, a copy of " Queen 
Mab" and of the "Declaration of Rights" to- 
gether realized £2 9s. Within the past few 
months ;^i66 has been paid for "Queen Mab," 
;£53o for the "Declaration" and the "Pro- 
posals for an Association of ... Philan- 
thropists." Despite the fact that Dickens is 
not a sale room favorite of the moment, " Pick- 
wick Papers," as originally issued in twenty 
parts at ;^i, has never before fetched so much 
as ;^i42, see No. 21, Mr. William Wright 
possessed a particularly interesting set of Pick- 
wick, the first fourteen numbers inscribed, 
"Mary Hogarth, from hers affy., Charles Dick- 
ens" — her death at this stage was one of the 
great sorrows of the novelist's life. This 
Wright set made 100 guineas in 1899. No. 23 
was a second of the fortunate purchases of 
Doctor Taylor Brown. He appears to have 
picked up the octavo volume for a couple of 
shillings, and so little importance did he attach 
to "condition" that he pasted a number of 
newspaper cuttings inside the book. It is 
hardly necessary to say that No. 28 is one of 
the most famous books in the annals of Vene- 
tian printing. The authorship of the romance, 
which late in the sixteenth century was mis- 
translated into English under the title of "The 
Strife of Love in a Dreame," is revealed in an 
acrostic formed by the initial letters of the 
chapters. Probably the highest price paid for 
the Poliphilo at auction was in 1897, when the 
Ashburnham copy, which had belonged to Em- 
peror Charles V., fetched £isi. No. 32 was 



published at 8s., and ;^i 10 is four times as much 
as the highest amount formerly paid at auction 
for the book. No. 33 was issued at the begin- 
ning of 1901 at 5 guineas; and exactly twenty 
times that amount must be regarded as an ex- 
cessive valuation, even though typographically 
the Agricola is excellent, even though from the 
collector's point of view it is especially desirable 
because five copies only on vellum were printed. 
Ordinary copies of the Kelmscott Chaucer — as 
of all other Kelmscott Press books — have had 
a severe set-back during the past few months. 
The reason of No. 35 realizing more than ;^ioo 
was that its sheets were uncut and untrimmed. 
Not since 1867, when the Corser example 
fetched 2 guineas, had a complete copy of No. 
36 appeared in the sale rooms. In it Shake- 
speare is called the " smooth-tongued melicent." 
But we must dismiss this part of the subject 
with allusion to one among many more re- 
markable money rises in old books. On June 
23d, as part of the library of the late Mr. W. E. 
Bools, there was sold for ;^85 a copy of the 
second edition, 1599, of "The Raigne of King 
Edward III.," on C4 of which occurs the line: 

" Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds." 
to be found word for word in Sonnet ninety -four 
of Shakespeare, first printed in 1609. This 
identical copy of Edward III. was bought in 
1886 in the same sale rooms for 8s. 

Coming within the category of sets of printed 
books are the Waverley novels, seventy -four 
volumes, editiones principes, in crushed olive 
morocco by Riviere, bought by Mr. Quaritch at 
the Gibson Carmichael sale for no less than 
;^8oo, against ;£2 26 paid for them in 1899; 
a set of the five works so far issued by the 
Doves Press, each on vellum, ;^i3o — the aggre- 
gate published price is 33 guineas; the Ballan- 
tyne Club Publications, 176 volumes, ;!^ioi ; a 
Bunyan collection, in all 277 volumes, ;!^205 ; 
nine of Sir William Eraser's family histories, 
1858-97, ;^io7 15s.; and seventy-two volumes 
relating to the cultivation of roses, ^^b. The 
finest decorative manuscript in its kind sold 
since January was on June 20th, when a 
thirteenth century English Psalter, on 187 
leaves of vellum, with thirteen full-page painted 
and illuminated miniatures, deemed to be 
earlier than the text, fetched ;;^82o. The Gib- 
son Carmichael collection included a late thir- 
teenth century Anglo-Norman Bible, on 593 
leaves of vellum, bought in the seventies for 
;^45o, ;;^6io; aud on March 20th a Wyclifi^e 
New Testament, written by an English scribe 
about 1 341, with an inscription by William 
Lambarde, first historian of Kent, realized 

Lepra Perpetualis. 

(After reading Dr. F. Buret's celebrated treatise on the 
private maladies of ancient and medieval times.) 

Humanity! What heritage of shame 

Is thine! How hectic burns the scholar's cheek, 
When thumbing worm-eat folios to seek 

Light on thy hidden sins, he reads aflame 

The obliquities of many a kingly name; 

Of maladies that vexed the lettered Greek, 
That bore far back the stamp of things antique, 

When Abram, chaste, austere, to Sodom came. 

Humanity! We sicken at the page, 

Whereon the candid storier doth confess 

That some who were the passion of their age, 
Outstripped the Caesars in their wantonness. 

Humanity! When rotting empires fell. 

Why sounded not the leprosarium's knell? 

— St. George Best, in The Quartier Latin, Paris. 

Eugene Field's Hat. 

Eugene Field used to have, among other 
treasures in his den, an immense cowboy hat 
made of buckskin, with a wide embossed 
leather band around it, the whole probably 
weighing some five pounds. One day a friend 
missed it from its accustomed peg. 

"What's become of your precious sombrero, 
Eugene?" he asked. 

"Well, it's gone," answered Field rather re- 
luctantly. Then after a moment he added: 

"You see, it was this way: 

"I had a dream the other night in which I 
saw myself sitting on a piazza with several 
young folks, and the time was fifty years after 
my death. I soon made out that one of the 
young ladies was my great-granddaughter. 
Something was said about authors. ' Oh,' 
says the young lady, 'did I ever tell you that 
my great-grandfather was an author? His 
name was Eugene Field.' Nobody had ever 
heard of me except one young fellow who 
thought he'd seen my name in a book of 
reference when he was at college. 'Well,' 
the girl went on, 'he was a poet and quite 
well known in his day. Papa used to have a 
book of his poems. We've got his hat yet,' 
and with that she disappeared and came back 
carrying that cowboy hat like a Christmas 
picture of a man bringing in the boar's head. 
'Just think,' she said, 'of poor great-grand- 
papa wearing that. But I suppose it was the 
thing in his day,' and then those confounded 
young folks gathered around, and lifted it, 
and talked, and made cheap jokes about the 
fashions of their ancestors till I couldn't stand 
it any longer and shouted, ' Hold on, there, 
you idiots,' and that woke me up. But in 
the morning I sent the hat down to the Foreign 
Mission Society. I hope an African king gets 



The catalogue of a sale of books held by There seems to be several manuscript ver- 

Messrs. Hodgson & Co., on May 6th, contains sions of this Poem extant, for Mr. John H. 

one entry which carries us back to the night Ingram, on page 362 of his "Edgar Allan Poe: 

of time so far as auction records are concerned, his Life, Letters and Opinions," 1886, states 

This had reference to the " Catalogus Librorum that he then possessed the first rough draft, 

Lazari Seaman," a library sold at the deceased's which the ill-fated genius wrote at the house 

own house on October 31, 1676, and seven sub- of Mrs. Shew — "his mind nearly gone out for 

sequent days. This sale is noticable as the want of food and from disappointment," the 

first ever held, of books at any rate, in Eng- Iron Bells rusting into his soul meanwhile. Of 

land, though book auctions had been in all the printed works of this author the first 

vogue in Amsterdam and Leyden at least since edition of "Tamerlane," 1827, is by far the 

1604, in which year the Elzevirs sold the library most difficult to procure, and yet, curiously 

of the learned G. Dousa, as Mr. Lawler relates, enough, two of the three copies known were 

The Doctor's library, marshalled in 5,639 lots, picked up, one in London by the late Mr. Henry 

realized the highly respectable total of ;;^3,ooo, Stevens for a shilling, and the other on a stall 

a sum which, making allowance for the differ- in Boston for the equivalent or something less, 

ence in the value of money then and now, Another work which, up to a certain period, 

represents perhaps as much again or more. seems to have escaped the attention of the 

Dr. Seaman's sale began at nine o'clock in "grubbers after early productions of genius," 

the morning of each day, and apparently con- is Rossetti's " Sir Hugh the Heron," a legendary 

tinued till the auctioneer or the company got tale printed at Polidori's private press in 1843. 

tired of selling or bidding. The books com- A copy of this scarce pamphlet sold on May 

prised the ponderous works of the Fathers and 8th for ;^i8 5s. The author was but thirteen 

learned Biblical expositors, Latin and Greek years old when he composed the lines, and but 

folios, Bibles, etc. Lighter literature is en- fifteen when they were printed, 

tirely unrepresented. There is no poetry of On the whole. May was not a particularly 

any sort, even Milton being conspicuous by his busy month for book- worms. The "May 

absence. And the prices! Eliot's "Indian Sales," popularly so called, have more to do 

Bible," printed at Cambridge (Mass.), 1661-63, with art than literature; pictures and, in a 

now worth perhaps ;i^7oo (Lord Hardwicke's minor degree, prints, taking a distinct lead 

copy brought ;;^58o in 1888), went for 19s.; year after year as the merry month comes 

the "Homer" of 1488 for 9s.; the Jenny Ged- roimd. On May 6th, Messrs. Sotheby sold a 

des' " Prayer- Book " of 1637 for 4s., and King portion of the Crowcombe Court Library, the 

Henry Vlllth's "Necessary Doctrine," 1543, features of which were Verard's "Book of 

for 4s. 6d., to say nothing of hundreds of other Hours," printed upon vellum at Paris in 15 — , 

volumes — American books and tracts, and pro- 4to, and Winslow's "Hypocrisie Unmasked," 

ductions of the early English Press, now worth 1646. The first named work was imperfect, 

more than their weight in gold — for a shilling several leaves being missing, yet it brought 

or two apiece. In fact this and most of the ;^i32. That by Winslow belongs to the rare 

early catalogues demonstrate the rank indiffer- class of Americana which, as all the world 

ence with which nearly all the books, now so knows, has been increasing in value for years, 

highly prized, were regarded by the savants of and is likely to keep on increasing. Books of 

the seventeenth century. Theology then ruled this kind, though seldom of much importance 

the roost, and polemical discussions and heated from a literary point of view, contain minutiae, 

arguments about nothing in particular seem which when welded together in one harmonious 

to have monopolized the leisure moments of whole, tabulated and arranged, are sure to let 

the wise. We may not admire the tasteful in a flood of light upon the dark ages of the 

choice, but certain it is that a good sound Western Continent. Winslow's book presents 

copy of "Life in London," which Pierce Egan what he calls a true relation of the Proceedings 

ushered into the world in 1821, is now of in- of the Governor and Company of the Massa- 

finitely more importance, from a pecuniary chusetts, and much interesting information of 

point of view, than all the works of rugged old the events that led up to the colonization of 

Tertullian, in whose torrid veins the fire of his New England. This was a fine copy and sold 

African deserts seems infused. for ;^53. 

A manuscript copy of Poe's "The Bells" Messrs. Puttick and Simpson's sale of May 

sold in New York on May 6th for $2,100. 7th contained some good and useful books, but 



none that have not been seen in the auction 
rooms over and over again during tlie present 
season, and Messrs. Sotheby's sale of the same 
date was in precisely the same position. One 
of the books, a Bible of 1796, had a view of Lin- 
coln Cathedral painted on the fore-edges, and 
realized £10. This painting of views on the 
edges of books was at one time rather prevalent. 
Edwards of Halifax is remembered as being 
the best craftsman, who distinguished himself 
in this particular way. Books so embellished 
disclose nothing when shut; in order to bring 
the paintings into view the edges must be ex- 
panded at an angle, and then the design stands 
out under the transparent gilding. The process 
is worth reviving, for it might, under favorable 
conditions, lead to important results in these 
days of artistic book production. 

What is known as the Bagington Hall Li- 
brary was sold on the 8th and 9th of May. 
The books had been collected by the late Mr. 
W. Bromley Davenport, and though not of 
first-rate importance as a whole, had evidently 
been well selected. A third folio of Shake- 
speare's Works realized ;^5 10 (Chetwinde, 1663, 
title and verses mounted), and a fourth folio, 
1685, portrait missing, ;^5o. The gem of the 
collection was, however, a letter in the neat 
and scholarly handwriting of Ben Jonson, con- 
sisting of fourteen lines following an epitaph 
in verse, beginning — 

"Stay, view this stone, and if thou doest such, 
Read here a little, that thou niayest know much." 

This brought ;^32o, which, all things considered, 
may be considered reasonable. Specimens of 
the handwriting of Ben Jonson are extremely 
rare under any circumstances, and this was 
a very fine example. There are several speci- 
mens in the British Museum, and one, consist- 
ing of eight lines of verse, apparently unpub- 
lished, is in the possession of the writer of these 

The great book sale of the month was held by 
Messrs. Sotheby on the i8th and three follow- 
ing days, some 1,070 lots, realizing rather more 
than ;,^ 1 2,000. This was another of those im- 
portant miscellaneous collections, which seem 
to be gradually banishing the old fashioned 
private libraries from the rooms. Some of the 
prices obtained at this sale were "extraordi- 
nary." Much as we love De Foe and all his 
works ;;^3o5 seems rather a large sum to pay 
even for the first edition of " Robinson Crusoe," 
and the "Farther Adventures." Both books 
were in the original calf, clean, and sound. Last 
July £24$ was realized for just such another 
set, except that in that case the "Farther Ad- 
ventures" belonged to the second edition in- 

stead of the first, a point of comparatively little 
importance, liowever, as the value is suppf)sed 
to lie in the better known book. It is strange 
tliat in these latter days any vestige of mystery, 
even bibliographical, should attach to De Foe's 
engaging romance. There is, it seems, an 
edition of 1719, entitled "Robinson Crusoe." 
Perhaps that is the first. Then, again, did 
De Foe really write the story? There is evi- 
dence against as well as for the assumption 
that he did. 

Two publications by Shelley realized the 
still more extraordinary sum of ;£53o. They 
were sewn together in one cover, with three 
original letters respecting them at the end, the 
whole forming a very interesting memorial of 
the poet. It seems that when Shelley was in 
Ireland in 181 2 he wrote and had printed, 
"Proposals for an Association of those Philan- 
thropists who, convinced of the inadequacy of 
the Moral and Political State of Ireland to 
produce benefits which are nevertheless attain- 
able, are willing to unite to accomplish its re- 
generation." He also had printed what he 
called "A Declaration of Rights," which, ac- 
cording to his own version of the matter, the 
farmers were fond of seeing stuck on their walls. 
The inflammable matter did not, however, sell 
in Ireland, so Shelley packed the "remainder" 
in a large deal box, directed to Miss Hichener, 
who kept a school at Hurstpierpoint, near 

The letters mentioned as being attached to 
the two printed productions of Shelley's fertile 
but meddlesome brain, give a short history of 
the deal box and its contents. The surveyor 
of the Custom House at Holyhead, while search- 
ing for contraband, came across the remain- 
dered copies, and reported to the secretary 
of the Post Office that they were dangerous. 
The secretary reported the discovery to the 
Postmaster-General, who promptly shadowed 
Shelley. His letter — one of the three — shows 
that a great deal of trouble was taken to ascer- 
tain all about the chief actors in this little 
comedy. Writing to Sir Francis Freeling, Sec- 
retary, he says: "I return the Pamphlet and 
Declaration; the writer of the first is son of 
Mr. Shelley, Member for the Rape of Bramber, 
and is by all accounts a most extraordinary 
man. I hear that he has married a servant 
or some person of very low birth ; he has been 
in Ireland some time, and I heard of his speak- 
ing at the Catholic Convention. Miss Hichener, 
of Hurstpierpoint, keeps a school there, and is 
well spoken of; her Father keeps a Publick 
House in the neighborhood; he was originally 
a Smugler and changed his name from Yorke 



to Hichener before he took the PubHc House. 
I shall have a watch upon the daughter and 
discover whether there is any connection be- 
tween her and Shelley." The upshot of the 
whole matter was that the deal box was de- 
stroyed, with its contents, nothing remaining 
but this official "dossier," and possibly an odd 
copy or two of the Pamphlet and "Declara- 

As is well known, several of Shelley's pub- 
lications are practically unprocurable. Until 
1898, "Original Poetry by Victor and Cazire," 
published in 1810, was absolutely lost, no copy 
being known to exist. Only about two copies 
of "A Vindication of Natural Diet," 1813, can 
be accounted for, while the original edition of 
"We Pity the Plumage but Forget the Dying 
Bird," has no known representative. Rodd's 
reprint of this strange production was put into 
circulation a few years ago as the genuine origi- 
nal. It had the imprint erased and a false 
date (181 7) added. Who does not know the 
immense difficulty, hopeless for nearly all of us, 
of meeting with the "Posthumous Fragments 
of Margaret Nicholson," 18 10; "The Necessity 
of Atheism, n. d." (1811); the earliest issue 
of "Queen Mab," 1813, "CEdipus Tyrannus," 
1820, and several other pieces which Shelley 
wrote and weary purchasers destroyed. Some 
of these pamphlets really invite destruction, 
as for instance, "An Address to the Irish Peo- 
ple," 1 81 2, which pleads eloquently for the 
burning. This miserable looking print was 
published at 5d. The type is worn out; the 
paper shocking to gaze upon. 

The copy of the second Folio of Shakespeare's 
"Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies," which 
realized ;;^85o, was printed by Thomas Cotes 
for Richard Hawkins. This edition seems to 
have been a joint speculation on the part of 
five booksellers, who each subscribed for as 
many copies as he thought he could sell. Haw- 
kins probably ordered but few, and it is very 
questionable whether more than three bearing 
his name now exist. There is one in the Lenox 
Library at New York; in fact, according to 
Stevens's "Recollections," Mr. Lenox had, by 
changing and chopping about, secured nearly 
all the variations known to exist in all four 
folios. But he lived in a time when it was 
possible to buy, and in fact he did buy about 
forty of the quartos, all in good condition, and 
some of them very fine, and a fair set of the 
four folios for ;£6oo. This was in December, 


Walton's "Compleat Angler" was first pub- 
lished in 1653 at eighteen pence. At the be- 

ginning of the nineteenth century a fine copy 
cost about £^ 3s.; in 1885 the price had in- 
creased to about ;^8o, in 1891 it stood at ;^3oo 
or thereabouts, and in 1895 at more than ;^40o 
(original sheep). On May 20th last a copy 
brought ;j^405. It was "tall," being within a 
shade of 5f inches high, and, strangely enough, 
in a fine contemporary English binding of 
black morocco. It is, of course, most unusual 
to find an expensive and elaborate binding of 
the period on such a book, and this was un- 
doubtedly a presentation copy to Francis Fos- 
ter, whose name, in Walton's handwriting, was 
filled in on the third page. A little bit of lore 
in connection with the "Compleat Angler" is 
worth preserving. It has reference to the por- 
traits of Walton and Cotton found in some of 
the numerous editions of this book of Fish and 
Fishing. Walton's portrait did not appear at 
all until the publication of Bagster's edition of 
1808, and then only on the same plate with 
the portraits of Cotton and Hawkins. The 
first separate portrait of Walton was engraved 
by Scott as a frontispiece to Bagster's fac- 
simile (so called) reprint of the first edition, 
published in 1810. 

Largest Book Destroyed. 

When the Chinese soldiers burned the Han- 
lin College, in the hope that it might set fire to 
the adjoining British Embassy, the only existing 
copy of the largest book in the world was 
destroyed. This was the Yung Lo Ta Tien, 
the Great Standard of Yung Lo, the Emperor, 
who caused it to be compiled in the year 1403. 
The idea was to collect in a single work all 
that had ever been written on (a) the Confucian 
doctrine, (b) history, (c) philosophy, (d) other 
matters generally. It was put together by an 
immense staff of 2 141 scholars, working under 
twenty subdirectors, five directors, and three 
commissioners. They completed it in five years. 
The work, consisting of 22,877 sections, was 
bound up into 11,100 volumes, each half an 
inch thick, so that, laid flat on one another, 
they would form a column forty-six feet higher 
than St. Paul's Cathedral. It was to have 
been printed, but the expense was found too 
great for the imperial government to undertake. 
Two copies were taken about 1567. The origi- 
nal and one of the copies perished in 1644, 
when the Ming dynasty fell. Of the copy which 
remained in the Han-lin College only five vol- 
umes are known to have been saved. They 
are in the hands of the Cambridge professor of 



By Joel Benton 

There are not many writers in America, I those who have followed Nature study, as a 

am sure, who have won both the affectionate fashion, deserve credit for rendering the path 

and the literary regard that has come to John to out-of-door wonders easier. 

Burroughs. There are other authors whom we I do not forget that this author has also 

admire perhaps without qualification; but, written a body of purely literary and critical 

when we think of them we find that, for the essays and, if he had written nothing else, he 

most part, they touch us solely or dominantly would have been sure of high distinction, 

through the intellect. The personal equation Without naming all that he has done, it will 

presented in their case is mostly that born of seem sufficient for the purpose of this article to 

mentality. The reader's hold upon Burroughs, recall his connection and acquaintance with 

however, while it is firmly fixed in the intellect, Walt Whitman. Whitman's " Leaves of Grass" 

is also warmed by a distinct thrill of the emo- appeared in 1863, and became at once neces- 

tions. As I have never heard this trait of sarily famous. It was thought by many, not 

difference mentioned or explained, I shall ven- so much a literary value, though, as it was 

ture to go a little further in my preamble and a literary portent. It was as if a new species 

suggest two reasons for it. had arrived on land or in water, or as if some 

Burroughs, in the first place, does not detach monstrous saurian had emerged alive from a 

himself from his work. He gives you through pre-silurian epoch. The conventions of poetic 

his pen his rounded personality, and the reader expression were here set at naught, poetry was 

discovers that he gives him what he might offered without rhyme or melody, and a wild 

have thought himself, if the necessary spark stampede over social rules as adamantine as 

of genius and keenness of observation had been the laws of the Medes and Persians was a part 

the reader's own. It is therefore a warm, of the spectacle presented. A few persons, 

human personality that his readers feel they however, of which number Burroughs was 

are confronted with, and that makes the book among the first, picked up the book to make a 

or essay they have in hand enticing — so enticing candid study of it. It was a rough chestnut 

indeed that it warms the heart. burr in its appearance, but if the simile should 

The second thing to be noticed in this ac- hold further, there might be sweet meat within, 

count is the fact that Burroughs began his Emerson, who had seen some of the less blamed 

writing, which reached the large public, with passages, applauded certain thoughts in them, 

topics of Nature — topics that are at least half and the book's general attitude still more, 

human, and, at any rate, wholly humanizing, writing to Whitman among other things this 

Nowhere is this seen more plainly than in his sentence: "I greet you at the beginning of a 

first book, well titled " Wake Robin." I do not great career." 

have it before me, but I remember that in the No author could have possibly coveted a 
opening pages he details for us at once his more wonderful compliment, though Emerson, 
own ecstatic rapture over our winged brother, when he saw later the unparalled frankness of 
the bird. Some one has said that "God had expression on a few pages of the book, was after- 
a beautiful thought when he first thought of wards ominously silent on this topic. Bur- 
making a tree," and it might be added a second roughs, I beheve, did not at first see the broad 
not less beautiful when he thought of making synthesis which Whitman felt and designed, 
a bird. From birds as a beginning. Burroughs and which Whitman thought, in the spirit of 
went through all the departments of Nature, the comment on the creation in Genesis, made 
its floral and faunal delights, extorting their all things "good." But he continued his study, 
remotest and most hidden" secrets, and making Noticing soon that no attack on morals was in- 
poetic and idylHc the most obvious, though tended, and that the only assertion implied 
frequently unnoticed phenomena. was that nothing was made for naught, and 

A shower of Nature writers has followed the all is right in its place, the development^ of these 
work of Thoreau and Burroughs, but these two, large and inclusive vistas interested him. He 
with White of Selbome, and Richard Jeffries became soon an expounder of the new view- 
across the sea, stand in the fore-front. They, point and an eloquent interpreter of its artistic 
more than any others, twined Nature with lit- and moral meaning. 

erature and their own personalities. Some Out of this examination came, in 1864, that 

others, to be sure, have done good work and small thin volume of Burroughs', now so rare 

worthy work on not dissimilar lines, and even and little known, titled "Notes on Walt Whit- 



man." It was printed by the American News 
Company, but cannot now be found except by 
accident; and even its author, I think, not 
long before he wrote his later book upon Whit- 
man, was without a copy. In this little book 
Burroughs put forward a fervor and splendor 
of advocacy that was fairly unparalleled. It 
was vastly instructive, too, and this, together 
with W. D. O'Connor's very able book on "The 
Good Gray Poet," lifted up Whitman, not only 
at home, but gave helpful reverberations on his 
behalf across the sea. 

The methods of Whitman's poetry may have 
assaulted all the canons of criticism, but they 
triumphed so far that the long rhymeless verses 
got at last, by peacemeal, into the magazines, 
and arrested in England Tennyson's attention 
as well as winning his praise. W. M. Rossetti, 
and many other notable authors there, were 
soon attracted to "Leaves of Grass" and to 
Whitman's personality, Rossetti making an 
edition of the " Leaves," though not quite com- 
plete, which he prefaced for the English public. 

I think Burroughs made Whitman's acquaint- 
ance when they were both living in Washington, 
during the period of the Civil War. I first met 
Whitman there in 1868 and at Burroughs' 
house. He had a habit of walking out at nightfall, 
and never missed two consecutive nights mak- 
ing a call upon Burroughs, who lived near to 
O'Connor, who was an author of great force 
and brilliancy. As I sat by the window after 
tea, I said to my host, "Are you sure Whitman 
will come to-night?" "There is no doubt of 
it," he replied. " He failed to come last night." 
This confident forecast was correct ; for within 
a few minutes' time a tall figure, very erect 
then, sunnounted by a sombrero, and showing 
the open bosom and flowing collar of the por- 
traits — and with cane in hand — was seen turn- 
ing toward the gate from the sidewalk. 

I did not ask who the newcomer was. That 
would have been a work of supererogation. 
When he came in his manner disappointed me. 
I was looking for something loud, and a trifle 
brusque — something, at any rate, more assert- 
ive. Was this really the bard who boasted of 
pouring his "barbaric yawp" over the roofs of 
the world? If it was, he had the gentlest of 
manners, and a voice with pleasant accents. 
He was deferent, and did not dominate the 
conversation. But, when he made a remark, 
it was graceful and touched with clear thinking. 
I remember no reference on his part to his own 
work, or even to authors and literature, though 
Dickens had just had the New York farewell 
dinner, which I had attended, and other occa- 
sions for literary reference were not lacking. 

Whitman I saw afterwards a few times, but 
never when he was in that superb health. The 
last time I met him was on the occasion, near 
the end of his life, of his appearance at the 
Madison Square Theatre in New York, and I 
think his very last appearence in that city. 
He always took to the patriarch's role easily, 
and with much liking apparently, after he had 
passed forty-five, but on this occasion his fee- 
bleness, and long gray hair, made the represen- 
tation in that capacity real enough without 
artifice or additions. As I stood at the close 
of his speech — which he read, seated — in the 
box occupied by Lowell and Charles Eliot Nor- 
ton, Lowell said to us something like this, 
though I cannot now quote his exact words: 
"Does it seem as if he were three months 
younger than I am?" Of course it did not. 
Lowell then looked fairly well, and was straight 
in stature, having only streaks of gray hair 
among the original brown or dark. And yet 
Whitman outlived him one year by the calen- 
dar — Lowell dying in 1891, and Whitman in 

It probably was natural, but it is deeply 
deplorable, that a writer with so much ethical 
purport, whose broad expressions have such an 
oriental and pictorial sweep, should be saddled 
with, and made responsible for, all the pitiable 
little philosophies afloat — whether they be true 
or false. And especially is it sorrowful that a 
few who pose as his interpreters tag him with 
their labels. But, the truth is, he had no sys- 
tem — no hard and fast creed, and was too free 
and inclusive, and orbic, to reduce the universe 
to the size and flavor of a pig-sty. If what all 
these small hierarchs say of him could be true, 
he would be more pied and patched than any 
conceivable cornfield scare-crow. Mr. Bur- 
roughs also laments this frequently repeated 
performance. Let any of us believe, if we 
choose, that the moon is made of green cheese, 
but don't let us insist that we are supported 
in this tenet by the "Leaves of Grass," or by 
its author. 

One who begins to read Whitman would do 
well first to read what Burroughs has said of 
him, and to read at the outset such poems as 
"My Captain," "When Lilacs Last in the 
Dooryard Bloomed," and his other brief and 
wholly disconnected lyrics. When the begin- 
ner later finds that the capital I, so often used, 
means the reader also, and all humanity, what 
seemed "colossal egotism" in this author to 
Bayard Taylor, will vanish, new horizons will 
emerge, and illumination of a strange force and 
magnitude will make itself felt. 

Poughkeepsic, N. Y. 



Care and PeedInK of Children. L. Emmett Holt. 75 cents. New 
York: D. Appleton & Co. 

"A Catechism for the Use of Mothers and Chil- 
dren's Nurses," Dr. Holt calls his little hand-book 
on the care of young children. Certainly he could 
not have offered a better sub-title. The book is ex- 
actly this. The scope of the work includes a series 
of typical questions and concise, authoritative an- 
swers that refer to the general physical condition of 
the baby. Certain hygienic rules are laid down, dis- 
cussed, and explained, most helpful to the young 
mother in securing the proper development of her 
child. A more timely, valuable little book would 
be hard to find. 

Engfllsh Literature. An Illustrated Record by Richard Qarnett and 
Edmund Qosse. Four volumes. Each $6.00 net. The Macmll- 
lan Co. 

"English Literature; an Illustrated record," by 
Richard Garnett and Edmund Gosse, presents to the 
English reading public for the first time such a wealth 
of illustration as German readers have long enjoyed 
in works of this character. The two volumes now 
published, out of the four which will make up the 
complete series, contain nearly 600 illustrations, 
many of them full page, and including photographs 
and reproductions in color. The authors have wished 
that their readers should be able to see not only the 
features of the writers who are discussed, but also 
the appearance of the manuscripts or printed vol- 
umes in which English masterpieces were first given 
to the world. This desire is natural in men whose 
lives have been spent among books to so great an 

Richard Garnett was born in 1835; at the age of 
sixteen he entered the British Museum as assistant 
in the printed books department. For more than 
fifty years he has been connected with that greatest 
of the world's libraries, and as keeper of the printed 
books, as superintendent of the reading room, and 
in other important positions has acquired a great 
knowledge of books, authors, and manuscripts. In 
many publications he has shown his qualities as 
editor, anthologist, and biographer. Several volumes 
of poems show his poetic fancy, mastery of melody, 
and dramatic force. His name has long been familiar 
with a limited public and will now reach new and 
wider circles. 

Mr. Gosse, a younger man than Mr. Garnett, be- 
came an assistant librarian of the British Museum at 
the age of eighteen and remained there many years. 
In 1885 he became lecturer in English literature at 
Trinity College, Cambridge. He has published more 
than twenty volumes of poetry, biography, or criti- 
cism, and has made an especial study of the period 
of which he treats. Both Mr. Garnett and Mr. Gosse 
have a wide acquaintance with foreign literature and 
are the better able to estimate the relative rank of 
English authors among the writers of the world. 

Mr. Garnett is the author of the first volume, which 
covers the period from the beginnings to the age of 
Henry VIII. There are few authors in this period 
whose writings the unhighschooled reader (to use a 
word of Lowell's invention) could read if he would, 
or would if he could. It is sufficient praise, then, to 
say that Mr. Garnett has treated this period with an 
adroit common sense, which makes his volume full 
of interest to the layman. He has been wisely par- 

simonious in dispensing information, and has realized 
that to say too much is as bad as to say too little' 
and perhaps worse. He promises to refer all whose 
curiosity has been aroused to ask for more informa- 
tion to a bibliography which will be a feature of a 
later volume. 

It was inevitable that in this initial volume there 
should be something said as to the natu-c and history 
of the English language. The Celt, the Roman, and 
the Saxon in turn held the land of Britain. Dane 
and Norman followed, and each had a hand in pre- 
paring the language and in building the literature 
which are called English. But that earlier English 
is, if not a foreign language, at any rate an unknown 
language to the common man of to-day. Mr. Garnett 
has held this fact in mind and has modernized the 
language and the spelling so as to make those old 
worthies intelligible. " Objectors should remember," 
says one author, "that it is impossible to say what 
precise orthography an ancient author would have 
employed, and that in the majority of instances he 
would himself have followed no uniform rule." 

Of the earliest period, before the coming of the 
Dane, the aged Caedmon, Cynewulf, and the Venera- 
bie Bede, Mr. Garnett finds the dominant element 
to be the religious feeling, the knowledge of the 
Bible. Still more distinctively English, though more 
rare, are a thoughtful melancholy and the love of 
nature. More remarkable still is the passion for the 
sea. The old mariner in one poem, who has enu- 
merated the hardships of a sailor's life, wherein: 
" All the glee I got me was the gannet's scream 
And the swoughing of the seal, 'stead of mirth of men. 
Yet finds that 

In the world he's no delight. 
Nor in anything whatever save the tossing of the 

O, forever he has longing who is urged towards the 
The long line of men that in the sea girt isle have 
sung the praises of wind and wave and the tossing 
ship goes back to the beginning of English literature, 
and, no doubt, long before the woaded Briton saw 
the first foreign boat approach his shore he sang of 
the sea. 

In the age that followed Alfred's name is greatest. 
"Alfred rescued our language as well as our inde- 
pendence and nationality. There is no contem- 
porary partner or rival in his glory, and no ground 
for thinking that England could have been preserved 
if Alfred had not existed — a scathing rebuke to the 
historical theories which disparage individual action 
in comparison with assumed general laws." 

In this and all the other subdivisions of the period 
he has chosen Mr. Garnett includes so much of the 
political and social history as is necessary for the 
understanding of the linguistic and literary history. 
This part of his work is never intrusive, and the 
author never forgets his ultimate aim in a mass of 
incidentally related facts. 

After the forty pages devoted to Chaucer, the 
largest number on any one theme, are those devoted 
to the early translations of the Bible into English. A 
facsimile in colors of a page of the WyclifTe Bible is 
one of the numerous illustrations of this topic. 
There are many quaint illustrations in connection 
with the Caxton and the early days of English 



printing. The first book printed in England was a 
translation of the tales of Troy, but the first book 
printed in England was "The Dictes and Sayings of 
the Philosophers," published fifteen years before the 
discovery of America. 

Many early Scotch writers are included in the 
volume, as it was not until after Flodden Field that 
lowland writers called their language Scotch instead 
of English, and even after that they never ceased 
to be intimately connected with English literature, 
though national jealousy north or south of the 
Tweed might deny the fact. 

With More and Ascham, Wyatt and Surrey, Eng- 
lish became sufficiently like the speech of to-day to 
be intelligible without modernization. The glorious 
age of which they were the forerunners is to be treated 
in the second volume. 

Mr. Garnett has been eminently discreet in his 
choice of authors and his sense of proportion. With 
all its brevity the work is thoroughly up to date, and 
while popular in style is never unscholarly. The 
illustrative extracts in this and the other volume give 
as good an idea of the style of the author from whom 
they are taken as can be given by such fragments. 

The third volume of the history — the second is 
not yet published — is by Mr. Gosse. It covers the 
period from Milton to Johnson. Mr. Gosse is much more 
independent and original in his judgments than the 
author of the first volume, sometimes startlingly so. 
The following extracts from his criticism of Milton 
illustrate this: "We read the 'Nativity Ode' with 
rapture, but sometimes with a smile. Its language is 
occasionally turbid, incongruous, even absurd. . . . 
We may easily slip into believing these conceits and 
flatnesses to be in themselves beautiful, but this is a 
complacency which is to be avoided." "Critics have 
vied with one another in pretending that they enjoy 
the invective tracts of Milton. . . . But if we are 
candid we must admit that these tracts are detestable, 
for the crabbed sinuosity of their style, their awk- 
ward and unseemly heat in controversy, or for their 
flat negation of all serenity and grace. If they were 
not Milton's we should not read one of them. As 
they are his, we are constrained to search for beauties, 
and we find them ... in certain enthusiastic 
pages, usually autobiographical, which form oasis in 
the desert, the howling desert of Milton's pamphlets." 

The foregoing is a fair specimen of what might 
almost be called Mr. Grosse's "unseemly heat in 
controversy." Not all the beautiful things he has 
to say of other writings of Milton's atone for the 
unnecessary harshness of these words. It must be 
remembered that this survey of English literature 
is not intended for specialists, but is primarily for 
the general reader. It will go into many a home 
where the older members of the family have never 
read a history of English literature and will never 
know more about its great names than is found 
within the pages of this book. The illustrations will 
entice many a child to read and form judgments 
almost ineradicable. 

This third volume begins with Burton, the author 
of "The Anatomy of Melancholy," and ends with 
Sir Joshua Reynolds. When we consider that Milton, 
Dryden, Pope, Bunyan, Swift, Addison, and John- 
son are only a few of the great names of this period, 
it will be seen that here again is an embarrassment 
of riches. 

Among the illustrations are facsimiles of letters 
from the Earl of Clarendon, Jeremy Taylor, Locke, 
Pepys, Defoe, Richardson, Johnson, and many 

others. Manuscripts, proofsheets, and title pages are 
shown in numerous examples. The volumes are 
prepared regardless of expense, and, while the price 
is moderate for the material presented, they will be 
beyond the reach of many of the people most inter- 
ested. No public library, however small, should be 
without them. 

For the Pleasure of His Company. Chas. Warren Stoddard. $i.5o 
net. San Francisco : A. M. Robertson. 

A really good story is Charles Warren Stoddard's 
"For the Pleasure of His Company." It combines 
originality of fancy with artistic elegance of diction. 
It is the product of the mind and heart of a man who 
has reflected deeply on the vargaries and inconsist- 
encies of human nature, on the vanities of the fleeting 
panorama of life, and on the necessity we are all 
under to exercise charity in passing judgment upon 
our fellowmen. Many of the passages of description 
are of almost perfect beauty. The author's style is 
pure, chaste and restrained. It is decidedly Gallic 
in its conciseness and lucidity. How pregnant and 
incisive is, for instance, the characterphotograph of 
Paul Clithero : " " He was certainly misunderstood ; 
he was a contradiction, as we all are, and in his case 
especially the two sides of his nature were as unlike 
as possible. It is said of many weak characters, 
such a one is his worst enemy; this was distinctly 
true of 'Clitheroe.' He seemed to enjoy deprecating 
himself. . . . He was painfully conscious of his in- 
ability to battle successfully with a world with which 
he was not in sympathy, and in which he took little 
or no interest. . . . He had much sentiment ; a love 
of the fine arts; his temperament was hyperpoetic. 
He had also a lively sense of the ludicrous. Often, 
through the fear of appearing silly or soft in the esti- 
mation of those he loved and respected, he would, in 
the midst of some lofty flight, cut a metaphorical 
pigeon-wing that turned everything into ridicule. 
. . . He was frothy; he delighted in boiling over 
at intervals to the amusement or the scandal of his 
too indulgent friends." Admirers of good fiction 
may be advised to read Mr. Stoddard's latest story. 
They will find it to their liking. It is fiction that is 
really worth reading, that strongly reminds one of 
the vanished days when novel writing was not re- 
garded as a business, but as art. The volume is 
gotten up in most attractive fashion. 

History of Roman Literature, A. Harold N. Fowler. Illustrated- 
$1.40. New York : D. Appleton & Co. 

This is a fit and attractive companion book to the 
author's " History of Ancient Greek Literature," pub- 
lished early in 1902, and, like that, pursues the sub- 
ject to a late period, ending with the Christian phil- 
osopher and statesman Boethius in the sixth century. 
Like that, also, it is not only a history of the litera- 
ture of Rome, but an introduction to it. Its per- 
sonal sketches and critical estimates of Roman 
authors are finely drawn. 

Letters to M. a. and H. a. John Ruskln. $1.25. New York : Harper 
& Brothers. 

These letters show Ruskin in his most sentimental 
condition. To Mary Gladstone he writes, for in- 
stance: "My dear M , You were a perfect little 

mother to me last night. I didn't feel safe a moment 
except when I was close to you." He is in some- 
what the same frame of mind when he speaks of art 
or social conditions. Even his pessimism is senti- 
mental. Gladstone and Ruskin are shown in effective 
contrast. It is interesting to note a passage con- 



cerning Ruskin, quoted from an old journal, in which 
it is said of "all vile, dark, hateful established or 
state churches." In this it goes so far as to prefer 
Carlstadt to Luther. The long misrepresented Ana- 
baptists of the Reformation period are treated with 
at least full appreciation. 

Love Letters of Margaret Fuller. Introduction by Julia Ward Howe- 
Si. 35- New York : D. Appleton & Co. 

This literary "find" is well equipped in the matter 
of reminiscences, Mrs. Howe furnishing an introduc- 
tion that is a tribute to personal friendship rather 
than a critical appreciation, while Emerson, Horace 
Greeley and Charles T. Congdon are drawn upon for 
their personal impressions of a woman who, however 
notable a figure she may have been in her own day, 
is in the present little more than a vaguely remem- 
bered name. Mrs. Howe enthusiastically claims that 
that name "is now one to conjure with," and that 
her "figure, carved or cast in enduring marble or 
bronze, would appropriately guard the entrance of 
the enlarged domain of womanhood, of which she 
was the inspired Pythoness." The much-needed cor- 
rective of this panegyric is furnished by the impartial 
editor of the volume, who closes it with a quotation 
from Congdon's reminiscences: 

"It is remarkable that this noteworthy woman's 
fame has already become traditional; she is remem- 
bered as a voluble talker, but much is not said of her 
books. She had colloquial habits of composition, 
and was rather a careless writer. The work upon 
which she had bestowed the greatest pains was lost 
with her in the remorseless sea; her literary contri- 
butions to the Tribune were not of permanent value. 
It was her task to deal mainly with the temporary 
and evanescent, and to be obliged to toil too much 
from day to day ; but always, in American literature, 
she will remain in a remarkably biographic phenome- 
non, while the tragic death of this Lycidas of women, 
a most painful personal story of shipwreck, was in- 
tensified by so many melancholy incidents that who- 
ever, long years hence, may read them, will wonder 
how the gods could have been so pitiless, and why 
the life of new happiness and larger intellectual 
achievement which was before her should so suddenly 
have ended upon that savage and inhospitable shore." 

Mrs. Howe calls Margaret Fuller the "Pythoness 
of the enlarged domain of womanhood," but who re- 
members her "^V oman in the Nineteenth Century" 
now? There are a few who recognize the critical 
acumen in her estimate of Longfellow's poetry, which 
antedated by so many years the revised verdict of 
recent biographers, but that is all. Emerson, Gree- 
ley and Congdon suggest a woman with an intense 
personality, a brilliant talker rather than conver- 
sationalist, a woman deeply, even morbidly, inter- 
ested in herself — how could it be otherwise in the 
case of one who read Novalis at the beginning of life? 
— ^but also a woman of noble impulses and the true 
desire to help. "She is," wrote Mazzini, "one of the 
rarest of women in her love and active sympathy 
with everything that is great, beautiful and holy." 
He saw her in the brief period of her maturity, in- 
spired by ideals, laboring among the wounded in the 
Rome of the revolution of 1848. A notable figure 
she was, but she must remain of her day and genera- 
tion, because, unfortunately, her potent charm can 
be little more than a gradually fading tradition to us. 
Those that knew her can only assure us of its exist- 
ence ; they have failed in their attempts to reflect it. 
As to her work, it was writ on water; the twentieth 

century counts her not among the influences that 
went to the shaping of its course. 

And yet, these Letters, so tardily given to us, have 
within them the element of prolonged life far more 
than any of Margaret Fuller's other published works. 
They were well worth ])ublishing; they are well worth 
reading; they are well w(jrth preserving. What their 
recipient wrote of them when he decided to give 
them to the world is true — literally true: 

"For many years after the tragical end of their 
author I would not part with this motherless ofT- 
spring of our spiritual intercourse, and, with the ex- 
ception of a few detached leaves, submitted for a 
similar purpose to her friend and biographer, Mr. 
W. H. Channing, at his solicitation, no human eye 
has ever seen them. But now, when more than a 
generation has passed and no earthly interest or feel- 
ing can possibly be injured, I cannot suffer their ex- 
quisite naturalness and sweetness to sink into the 
grave. More especially do I not feel justified in 
withholding them from others, who, having deeply 
loved her in life and mourned her death, are entitled 
to this sacred experience of her inmost soul, while at 
the same time I feel I can wreathe no fresher laurels 
around the cherished memory of ' Margaret ' than 
by showing, through these letters, that, great and 
gifted as she was as a writer, she was no less so in the 
soft and tender emotions of a true woman's heart." 

The letters were written during the years 1844-46 
to a young Hebrew of German birth, James Nathan, 
who came to this country in 1830, at the age of 
nineteen, and was in business in New York, first as 
a commission merchant and then as a banker, until 
1862, when he returned to Germany. He died in 
1888. The correspondence came to an end with 
Margaret's departure for Europe. 

Two letters are quoted here in part ; they are taken 
at random. There is no need of careful selection in 
the case of this correspondence, which deserves the 
attention of students of literature, apart from the 
possible interest still attaching to the personality of 
its author. These letters sound sonorously true; 
they have the dignity of a deep passion, its beauty 
that commands reverence, and its strength. 

Many of the earlier letters are not dated, and it is 
in one of these, the tenth, that the following passages 

' ' I hoped to wake this morning blessing all mankind , 
but it was not so ; I woke with my head aching, and 
my heart cold and still, just as on the day before. 
But a little while after on my way through the town, 
there came to me the breath I needed. I felt sub- 
missive to heaven, which permits such jars in the 
sweetest strains of earth. I saw a gleam of hope 
that the earth stain might be washed quite away. 
I thought of you with deep aflfection, with that sense 
of affinity of which you speak to me, and felt, as I 
said this morning, that it was suicide to do otherwise. 
I felt the force of kindred draw me, and that things 
could not be other than they were and are. Since 
they could be so, leave them! I cannot do other 
than love and most deeply trust you, and will drink 
the bitter part of the cup with patience. 

" Since then, I have your note. Not one moment 
have I sinned against you; to 'disdain' you would 
be to disdain myself. 

"Yet forgive, if I say one part of your note and 
some particulars of your past conduct seem not 
severely true. You own mind, strictly scanned, will 
let you know whether this is so. You have said 



there is in yourself both a lower and a higher than 
I was aware of. Since you said this, I suppose I 
have seen that lower! It is — is it not? — the man of 
the world, as you said you see 'the dame' in me. 
Yet shall we not both rise above it? I feel as if I 
could now, and in that faith say to you, dear friend 
— kill me with truth, if it be needed, but never give 
me less. I will never wish to draw any hidden thing 
from your breast, unless you begin it, as you did the 
other day, but if you cannot tell me all the truth, 
always, at least, tell me absolute truth. 

"The child, even when its nurse has herself given 
it a blow, comes to throw itself into her arms for 
consolation, for it only the more feels the nearness 
of the relation. And so, I come to thee. Wilt thou 
not come with me before God and promise me severe 
truth, and patient tenderness, that will never, if it 
can be avoided, misinterpret the impulses of my 
soul ? I am willing you should see them just as they 
are, but I am not willing for the reaction from the 
angelic view to that of the man of the world. Yet 
the time is past when I could protect myself by re- 
serve. I mvist now seem just as I feel, and you 
must protect me. Are you equal to this? Will an 
unfailing, reverent love shelter the 'sister of your 
soul?' If so, we may yet be happy together some 
few hours, and our parting be sad, but not bitter. 
I feel to-day as if we might bury this tigly dwarf- 
changeling of the past, and hide its grave with 
flowers. I feel as if the joyous sweetness I did feel 
in the sense of your life might revive again. It lies 
with you — but if you take up the lute, oh do it with 
religious care. On it have been played hymns to the 
gods, and songs of love for men, and strains of heroic 
courage, too, but never one verse that could grieve 
a living heart, and should it not itself be treated deli- 

" With sorrow, but with hope, farewell." 
In April, 1845, Margaret wrote a letter to Mr. 
Nathan, which is, unfortunately, too long to be 
printed in its entirety: 

" I have felt a strong attraction to you almost 
ever since we first met, the attraction of a wandering 
spirit toward a breast broad enough and strong 
enough for a rest when it wants to furl the wings. 
You have also been to me as sunshine and green 
woods. I have wanted you more and more, and 
became uneasy when too long away. My thoughts 
were interested in all you told me, so different from 
what I knew myself. The native poetry of your soul, 
its boldness, simplicity and fervor charmed mine, of 
kindred frame. 

" But this is all that can be said of my feelings up to 
receiving your confidential letter a week ago. I en- 
joyed like a child the charm with which a growing 
personal interest clothes common life, and the little 
tokens of outward nature. You enjoyed this with 
me, and the vibrations were sweet. I received, in- 
deed, with surprise the intelligence that you would 
go away. It startled me for the moment with a 
sense that you did not prize me enough. I had felt 
that I could be so much to you, to refine, expand 
and exalt. Could it be, I thought, you did not feel 
this? But then your words assured me that you did 
feel it, and I easily forgot pride and self-love. I was 
thinking more of you than of myself, and I hoped 
the travel was, indeed, just what you wanted. 

" But when I received from you the mark of truth 
so noble, and that placed your character in so strik- 
ing a light, also seemed to attach so religious an im- 
portance to my view of it, my heart flew open, as if 

with a spring, and any hidden treasure might have 
been taken from it, if you would. I can never resist 
this kind of greatness. I may say, it is too congenial. 
At such times I must kneel and implore our God to 
bless with abundant love the true heart that consoles 
me for the littleness I must see in my race elsewhere. 

"Afterward I thought of you with that foolish ten- 
derness women must have toward men that really 
confide in them. It makes us feel like mothers, and 
we wish to guard you from harm and to bless you 
with an intensity which, no doubt, would be very 
tiresome to you if we had force to express it. It 
seemed to me that when we should meet I should 
express to you all these beautiful feelings, and that 
you would give me a treasure more from your rich 
heart. * * * 

" But your heart, your precious heart (I am deter- 
mined to be absolutely frank), that I did long for. 
I saw how precious it is, how much more precious 
may be. And you have cruelly hung it up quite 
out of my reach, and declare I never shall have it. 
Oh, das ist hart! For no price! There is something 
I am not to have at any price. Das ist hart. You 
must not give it away in my sight, at any rate, but 
you may give away all your prudence and calcula- 
tions, and arrangements, which seem so unlike your 
fairer self, to whomsoever you like." 

New Conceptions in Science. Cari Snyder, $a.oo. New York : 
Harper & Brotiiers. 

How to deal with the fourteen essays contained 
in his volume, unless by saying that they are one 
and all worth reading and that we have rarely 
read a scientific book we could more heartily com- 
mend, it is rather difficult to see. One or two of 
these articles must, however, be discussed, and for 
the rest we must try to sum up the general im- 
pression. Mr. Snyder writes lucidly, accurately, and 
with enthusiasm. His range is wide and his original 
ideas are not few. Of these, we may specially note 
his essay on the "telepaths" and the galvanometer, 
which goes well, as serving to show Mr. Snyder's 
fairness of 'mind, with the excellent portrait of Sir 
Oliver Lodge and the recognition of the claims of 
that celebrated "telepath" to priority in the discov- 
ery of wireless telegraphy. That there exists a world 
beyond our senses Mr. Snyder would be the first to 
admit. He has, indeed, an admirable essay showing 
that we can describe the properties and distances and 
speed and construction of stars which affect not one 
human sense. But he goes on to ask how it is that 
the supposed phenomena of telepathy, spiritualism, 
and so forth, have never been made to affect any of 
the most delicate instruments, such as the galvano- 
meter, which can record the presence of a quantity 
of electricity almost infinitesimal, or the bolometer 
which will register a change in temperature of a 
millionth of a degree, and detect the heat of a 
candle a mile and a half away. The point is a good 
one, nor do we remember to have met it before. To 
one or two of Mr. Snyder's statements we take ex- 
ception. In arguing, for instance, that "the whole 
progress of science and, for that matter, of the human 
mind is conditioned by mechanical appliances," a 
proposition which we cannot wholly accept, he says, 
"There is probably no difference whatever in the 
mental capacity of a fine type of a savage and that of 
a Spencer or a Descartes." This would take a deal 
of demonstration. Here and there, also, Mr. Sny- 
der strikes one as rather apt to ignore the gaps in our 
knowledge. His assumption, for instance, that con- 




scioiisness can be explained in terms of nervous 
pliysiology is wholly unwarranted. No such explana- 
tion has ever been afforded, nor, indeed, in the present 
state of our knowledge, is one conceivable. The 
" Cogiio ergo stmt" of Descartes was doubtless asso- 
ciated with well-defined changes in what Mr. Snyder 
calls a "highly phosphorised fat," or in his brain, 
but the most admirable chemical equation ever for- 
mulated does not explain consciousness. Lastly, iil 
adverse criticism, we would refer to the essay which 
treats of Dr. Loeb's experiments on the germ-cells 
of certain lower animals. That these, in any degree 
whatever, are equivalent or even an approach to the 
production of life cannot for one moment be main- 
tained, and the argument that a living thing grows, 
that these germ-cells do not grow, and are therefore 
not alive until Dr. Loeb manipulates them, is a pal- 
pable quibble. 

Mr. Snyder's erudite and courageous "foreword" 
on the relations of science and progress is a bit of 
delightful reading, and it happens to come very fitly 
when a school of applied science is being planned for 
London and just after a learned professor — of Ox- 
ford, need we say — has told us that anyone who 
applies "the truths of pure science" to practical pur- 
poses is afflicted with "vulgarity of mind." Fortu- 
nately the minds of Lister and Kelvin were not free 
from that "element of vulgarity" which appears to 
be Prof. Turner's synonym for altruism. Mr. Sny- 
der's views on this matter are clear enough, nor does 
he fear to attack Plato, that genius whose incompar- 
able literary style has persuaded so many generations 
into the belief that he was a great philosopher. In 
Plutarch's life of Marcellus he states that Plato in- 
veighed against certain geometricians of his time ' ' as 
corrupting and debasing the excellence of geometry, 
by making her descend from incorporeal and intel- 
lectual to corporeal and sensible things." This comes 
quite parallel to Sir Frederick Bramwell's admirable 
retort to Prof. Turner, who is an astronomer. The 
story goes of a mathematical professor who com- 
plained of a colleague that he had "prostituted the 
truths of pure mathematics to the service of astron- 
omy!" Mr. Snyder refers to the "contemptuous 
sentimentality" of Plato and attributes to his "silly 
supercilious attitude" a large share in the causation 
of the long eclipse from which science only emerged 
three centuries ago. At the end of this essay Mr. 
Snyder becomes really eloquent. He follows that 
splendid passage from Buckle on the discoveries of 
genius with these words: 

"Not, then, to the Caesars and Alexanders, not to 
the bandits and plunderers who have reddened his- 
tory: neither to the dreaming messiahs whose hal- 
lucinations have filled men's minds with empty fan- 
cies; not to these should rise our pantheons; but 
rather to those who, in the pursuit of science and of 
truth, have added to the intellectual wealth of mankind. 

"For they are the true gods, the real gods. Eos 
salutetnus, et secuti labor emus." 

Readers will find intelligible, thoughtful and de- 
lightful essays on such fairy tales of science and long 
results of time as the newly-discovered structure of 
the microcosmic atom, the anti-toxin theories and 
their applications to the saving of so many lives from 
diphtheria and other diseases, the recent extensions, 
made more complete since the essay was written by 
the polarization of the Rontgen rays, in our knowledge 
of the spectrum of "light " about one-twentieth part 
of which is "light" in our eyes and many other 

Poems of Anne, Countess of WInchllsea, The. Prom the orl((lnal 
edition of 1713 and from uapubllHhfd manuscripts. Bdltcd with an 
lntr«ductlon and Notes by Hyra keynold.s, of the Department of 
BnKlish. The Decennial Publications Second Series. Vol. V. $3.00. 
Chicago : The University of ChlcaKO Press. 

Lady Winchilsea, who properly belongs to the 
seventeenth century group of poets, is little known 
to modern readers, but has been praised by Pope, 
Wordsworth, and Matthew Arnold, and her vigcjr- 
ously attractive personality has been recently brought 
into prominence by Mr. Edmund Gosse. She wrote 
dramas, Pindaric odes, songs, fables, religious poems, 
and translations. The present edition of her poems 
is the first complete collection of them to be printed, 
although Dyce and Wordsworth contemplated an 
edition of them in 1833, aud Mr. Gosse and Mr. 
Saintsbury have each written of the desirability of 
putting them within reach of the public. The com- 
pilation is finally made from a volume of selections 
published in 17 13, from various miscellanies con- 
taining scattered poems, and from two unpublished 
manuscripts, one of these being now in possession 
of the Earl of Winchilsea — a morocco-bound, gilt- 
edged volume of ladylike appearance; the other 
being the impressive calf-bound folio described by 
Mr. Gosse in his "Gossip in a Library" as having 
fallen into his possession through a lucky chance 
of an obscure book -list. 

The biographical introduction to the "Poems" de- 
picts a character of unusual interest. Lady Winchil- 
sea, her biographer says, was a "heretic in her own 
day, a protestant, both consciously and uncon- 
sciously, against the religious, social and litera,ry 
canons then in vogue"; and some of her heresies 
were the orthodox faith of later generatioris. De- 
scended from an ancient Hampshire family, she 
became in 1683 one of the six maids of honor of Mary 
of Modena, A year later she married Col. Heneage 
Fitch, who afterward became Lord Winchilsea. A 
fierce loyalist in the Stuart case, her early poems are 
darkened by the misfortunes of that unhappy house. 
The verses "Upon the Death of King James the 
Second" close her melancholy period with a burst of 
adulation and mourning. In her early poems, as in 
her later ones, she shows peculiarly modem charac- 
teristics. In full revolt against the standards of 
the times she proclaims the right of women to use 
their wits in any way pleasing to them, declaring 
epigrammatically, ' 'Women are Education's and not 
Nature's fools." She was never meant, she says, 
for the "dull manage of a servile house." She 
cares little about her table except that it be "set 
without her care. ' ' She desires leisure and a free mind 
more than "ortolane" or "treufies." A new gown 
in the Spring satisfies her, and as for embroidering 
she will not 

"in fading silks compose, 
Faintly, the inimitable Rose, 
Fill up an ill-drawn Bird, or paint on Glass 
The Sovereign's blurred and undistinguished 

The threatening Angel and the speaking Ass." 
The love of nature, to which her poetry testifies, 
is also a modem quality. Toward individual trees 
or groups of trees her feeling is almost as intimate 
as that of Lowell. She addresses them as numer- 
ous brethren of the leafy kind." 

Trust Finance. B. 5. Meade. 377 pages, 5>^x7i^. $1.25 ■«*• New 
York : D. Appleton & Co. 

In these days when so much is said about the 
trusts by those whose knowledge of them is small — 
and the smaller the knowledge, the more confident 



the discussion — it is a most grateful service to the 
public to give them a book that explains the whole 
subject in clear, simple, untechnical language. Prof. 
Meade, of the University of Pennsylvania, has done 
this thoroughly and well, apparently without pre- 
judice. He has studied the subject minutely, and 
cites his authorities freely. He not only sets forth 
general principles and practices, but illustrates them 
with examples of actual transaction. Perhaps the 
most interesting chapter is that on "The Genesis of the 
United States Steel Corporation," the greatest of 
all the trusts. The book will furnish such an edu- 
cation as every investor, great or small, should be 
glad to acquire. It is handsomely printed and has 
a good index. 

silent Maid, The. Frederic W. Pan^bom. $1.00. Boston: L. C. 
Page & Co. 

It is not often that one finds a short tale so idyllic 
in tone and so fanciful in motive as "The Silent 
Maid" issued in book form. The reasons, no doubt, 
are that very few people can write them and, once 
written, very few publishers will risk putting them 
into print. Mr. Pangborn's little tale combines 
in a commendable grace, the qualities that mark 
so many of the shorter German romances: A fan- 
tastic eerie motif, primitive passions, strange supernal 
agencies, a fatalistic gloom, and great delicacy of 
imagination. The book is a very pretty piece of 
poetic imagining and worth spending a pleasant hour 

Tralnlnir of Wild Animals, The. Prank C. Bostock. Edited by Ellen 
Velvln. $1.00. New York : The Century Company. 

Mr. Bostock's fame as a trainer and exhibitor of 
wild animals entitles him to a close attention now 
that he has presented himself in the field of letters. 
His book is an admirable contribution to the know- 
ledge of the people on subjects with which they are 
at present only superficially familiar. While tens 
of thousaads have witnessed exhibitions of trained 
animals behind steel bars, few know the methods of 
their education, the precise dangers attending the 
process and the vagaries of the animals themselves. 
Of all these things Mr. Bostock treats in a simple, 
unaffected style which carries conviction. His editor 
in a preface declares that a thorough research into 
the affairs of wild animal shows convinces her that 
no cruelty whatever is practiced by the trainers. 
Else, she adds fervently, would she refuse to have 
aught to do with the present literary presentation. 
Mr. Bostock destroys several popular illusions re- 
garding this line of business. No red-hot irons are 
now thrust against the animals to subdue them. 
They are too valuable to be hurt unnecessarily. 
Once a man did see such irons heating behind the 
cages of the show. But they were for the purpose 
of warming the drinking water of the animals and at 
the same time imparting a tincture of iron to the 
water for tonic purposes. The trainers, says Mr. 
Bostock, do not hypnotize their charges, but rule 
them through patience, justice and a sense of mastery 
acquired by compelling the animals eventually to 
obey. The animals are never drugged. They are 
not fed on tainted meat. They are never taught to 
pretend violent rage against their trainers or attend- 
ants. In short, the book is filled with facts, all inter- 
esting and some important. Sketches of individual 
animals and trainers are given, with numerous in- 
stances illustrating jsrinciples of the business. Re- 
productions of photographs add to the interest of 
the volume. 

Tu-Tze's Daughter, The. Louise Betts Edwards. $i.«o. Henrv T. 
Coates & Co. 

A novel and interesting book, containing atmos- 
phere in abundance (the scenes in faraway Asia are 
made to appear oddly natural and near) ; some clever 
character-drawing, and a plot refreshingly unique, 
in which the author reserves for the reader, until 
almost the last page, a genuine surprise. 

Unwelcome Mrs. Hatch, The. Hrs. Burton Harrison. $1.35. New 
York : D. Appleton & Co. 

"The Unwelcome Mrs. Hatch," is of the order 
of the typical modern stage drama of society, and 
indeed was written with reference to the stage. It 
is published in the series of "Novelettes de Luxe," 
other issues in which were " While Charlie Was Away," 
"The Talk of The Town," and "The Stirrup Cup." 
Mrs. Hatch is the name assumed by a divorced 
woman to conceal her identity while she visits New 
York and steals into the presence of her daughter, 
whom she is not allowed to visit openly. To win 
sympathy for her, it is given out that she had be- 
haved madly rather than wickedly, being driven by 
jealousy to attempt a retaliation upon her husband 
which made it possible for him to divorce her. But 
the sentiment is of an unwholesome sort, and the 
story does not rise above the level of the plays of 
the class to which it belongs. The sudden death 
from heart disease by which the novelist solves her 
problem is in keeping with the staginess of the whole 

Literary History of India, A. R. W. Frazer. $4 .00. New York; 
Charles Scrlbner's Sons. 

Literary History of Ireland, A. From the Earliest Times to the 
Present Day. Douglas Hyde. $4.00. New York : Charles Scrlbner's 

Literature, as the self-expression of a living and 
growing nation, is the subject of the series of which 
these two volumes form a part. The idea is excel- 
lent. With the passing of the merely political and 
military history as the only form of history that 
could be called scientific and the advent of the wider 
conception of history as the record of a nation's devel- 
opment, there has also come to pass a revolution 
in the treatment of the literature of nations. The 
people and their development have come upon the 
field of historical science, and everything is brought 
to bear on the question as to the nature and the 
forces and processes by which the present condition of 
national life has been brought about. In literature 
is to be found one of the records of this formative 
process. And as the growth of the political insti- 
tutions has been shown to be involved in the gradual 
advance in civilization as an expression of that 
civilizing process, so the literature has come to be 
treated in connection with the growth of the nation 
itself. The literature of a race, accordingly, can 
be taken as a means of explaining the life of the 
people, as a key to the understanding of the evolu- 
tion of society. This is the form in which the sub- 
ject of these volumes has been put, and well have 
those who have labored in the realization of the plan 
contributed to its elucidation. 

The interest in these two volumes is not equal. 
The style and treatment of the "Literary History 
of India" make that volume far easier reading than 
that devoted to Ireland. The literature of India 
has been known to European scholars for about a 
century. The reconstruction of the past has been 
very complete. There are, indeed, many problems 
to which there have been given no generally accepted 



solutions; savants still dispute about a multitude of 
minute details in early Indian liternry history. But 
the main facts have been ascertained, are very clear 
and are universally accepted. It is with the inten- 
tion of sketching? the broader outlines of the devel- 
opment and the avoidance of many of the disputed 
minor points that Mr. Frazer has written his excel- 
lent and readable account. It is distinctly what the 
title suggests — not a history of literature in India 
merely so much as a history of India, written from 
the standpoint of its literature. On the one hand, 
the history of the country is seen through the liter- 
ature, and, on the other, the various works of the 
poets and other writers are shown in relation to 
the great movements of religious and philosophical 
thought, the revolutions that have taken place in 
society and the general life of the vast country on 
which the Aryan invaders early placed the stamp 
of their civilization. There have been many books 
of a popular character written on India. They 
have led many to the study of the Hindoo religions 
and a few to examination of the Hindoo philosophy. 
They have also served as useful introductions to the 
study of comparative philology. To mention but 
the works of one — the interesting lectures of Max 
Miiller have opened up 'new lines of thought, prob- 
ably to thousands. And yet there has not been a 
generally available hand-book of literary history 
that would put the disjecta membra in the minds of 
intelligent persons into their place in a well-organized 
body of literary and historical knowledge of India. 
This Mr. Frazer has done with admirable skill, and 
the literature of India and the deepest and truest 
history of that country, for in a remarkable degree 
the history of India is literary rather than political, 
is made intelligible to the great body of cultivated 
readers who are not Sanskrit students. 

Mr. Hyde's work is largely that of a pioneer. It 
is written from a strictly Irish standpoint. There 
is no attempt made to treat writers of English who 
have been natives of Ireland. Goldsmith, Burke 
and others, therefore, do not appear in this volume. 
As Mr. Hyde well says, they belong to English liter- 
ature, not to Irish, and they find and always have 
found, their place in a history of English literature. 
He is, therefore, justified in omitting them. It is, 
however, not so certain that he is justified in omitting 
that new school of Irish writers who have been stimu- 
lated by the roused spirit of nationality within the 
last few decades. But the author has made for him- 
self a fair and useful rule; the writers to whom he 
turns his attention in the preparation of this volume 
are to be those who wrote in the Irish language, 
that language which the English have treated so 
long with the greatest contempt, and even now 
leave almost entirely to Continental scholars to study. 
And yet there was a time when Ireland was the in- 
tellectual center of Western Europe. The influence 
that went out of Ireland and spread throughout 
Europe in the period of Charlemagne, and even 
after, are well known to every student of church 
history. Later, though the Irish became more or 
less cut off from the general development of Europe, 
and maintained their older forms of life, there was 
still a literature among them well worthy of being 
compared to its advantage with any vernacular 
literature of Europe. This would long since have 
been known but for the invincible prejudice of 
those authorities who have had possession of the 
largest collections of Irish manuscripts, and have 
taken little trouble in caring for their treasures and 

almost none in making them available to scholars. 
Mr. Hyde writes with considerable as])erity at 
times. We hardly l)laine him. But he has given us 
the first, and certainly a very complete, record of the 
literary life of Ireland. It is not always pleasant 
reading, for the book is stuffed with selections and 
extracts from the great bards and writers of the 
past, and it is hard to put one's self into the frame 
of mind to appreciate their works. But we give it a 
hearty welcome, as opening up in a careful, accurate 
and thoughtful manner a literature that was practi- 
cally buried from us. Had it been somewhat more 
popular in style, it would have been more useful in 
stimulating in the hearts of others some of the en- 
thusiasm which Mr. Hyde feels for the language 
and literary history of his country. 

A New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare. Edited by Horace Howard 
Furness.— Vol. II. /lacbeth. Revised Edition by Horace Howard 
Purness, Jun. Philadelphia, J. B. Lipplncott Company. 

Very nearly a generation has elapsed since the 
first two volumes were issued of what was then known 
as the "American Variorum Edition of Shakespeare." 
Edited by Dr. Horace Howard Furness, one of the 
sanest as well as the most brilliant of Shakespearean 
scholars, this edition was accepted as definitive, and 
almost final. Yet, now, when less than one-third 
of the task is accomplished, a dozen of Shakespeare's 
plays in all having seen the light in the form adopted, 
the task of re-editing one at least of the early volunies 
has been found expedient — it may perhaps be said, 
since such fresh labors would not be rashly under- 
taken, indispensable. In replacing in the expanding 
row of volumes the first edition of "Macbeth" with 
the second, or rather in finding room for the two 
editions side by side, mingled reflections are inspired. 
It is wholly satisfactory to find that the first editor 
— who, in his early prefaces, owns his obligations to 
his father — is now blessed with a son able to facili- 
tate and perpetuate his labors. Regarding closely 
what has been accomplished within a given space by 
high scholarship and indefatigable effort, we are justi- 
fied in assuming that, unless too much time be spent 
on reconstituting what has been supposed to be ac- 
complished, three further generations may suffice to 
bring the family labors to a conclusion, and in hoping 
that the strain of intellectual competency, continued 
through three descents, may be prolonged through 
as many more. Counting losses and gains, one feels 
disposed, in imitation of Robinson Crusoe, to begin, 
under "evil" and "good," a debtor-and-creditor ac- 
count of the position, as: 

Evil. Good. 

"Thirty years* labors " But the editor is still 
have been spent, and alive, and energetic at an 
twelve volumes of the age when men prepare to 
Variorum Edition are all rest from their labor, 
that we possess. 

" There is no conceiva- "But recruits are en- 
ble possibility that any listed in the service, and 
one who greeted with the work that the grand- 
hope the appearance of sire has contemplated the 
the first volume in 1873 grandson will continue; 
will be able to handle or and the world, if not the 
gaze upon the last vol- individual, will be the 
ume — say the fortieth. richer for the labor." 
And so forth. Meantime, the commonplace lessons 
of the futility of human ambition and the emptiness 
of the dream of finality are taught afresh. It has 
been discovered of late that every age requires its 
own translation of Homer. The same is true of 



almost all classic writers, Rabelais being the only 
great master who has met with a translator not likely 
to be replaced. Even more true is it that there \s 
no finality as regards Shakespeare, successive edi- 
tions of whose works appear, enjoy "a little brief 
authority," and are dismissed. It is nowise to the 
purpose to say that the ideal form for to-day, even, 
cannot be found in the editions that issue in a full- 
flowing stream from the press. 

In respect of bulk, the later "Macbeth" is some 
eighty odd pages, or nearly one-sixth, longer than 
the earlier. As, however, compression or excision 
has been exercised in many portions of the volume — 
notably in the reprint of D'Avenant's "Macbeth" — 
the amount of space saved for the additional notes, 
which constitute the chief feature of the new volume, 
is considerable. 

In the main the preliminary matter is the same. 
A couple of pages of forewords, divided between the 
two editors, are supplied, and indicate the causes 
and nature of the changes that have been made and 
the reasons for revision. For the first time the exact 
orthography, punctuation, and use of capital letters 
and italics are followed. In the 1873 edition the 
orthography is modernized, 

"When the hurlyburly's done. 
When the battle's lost and won," 
being given where the new volume correctly reads: 
"When the Hurley-burley's done. 
When the Battaile's lost, and wonne." 
For a popular edition the earlier text is well enough. 
Similar alterations have been adopted in the "Cam- 
bridge Shakespeare" (second edition, 1892), which 
has long been regarded as authoritative. In such 
cases, however, modernization leads to abuses. A 
well-known heresy, adopted by Dr. Fumess himself 
in his edition of "Romeo and Juliet," is fostered by 
the habit of successive editors of printing "rhyme" 
where Shakespeare wrote, and the First Folio reads, 
' ' rime . " By the scholar the practice now adopted by 
Mr. Fumess of following the exact text of the First 
Folio, and appending in the shape of footnotes such 
emendations or alterations of subsequent editors as 
merit attention or preservation, is the only one to 
be tolerated. 

When we come to the notes we find a change even 
more important and far-reaching. These are altered 
and enlarged until the work itself becomes other 
than it was. Not only have quotations from the 
"New English Dictionary" so far as it has advanced 
— replaced old and imperfect etymological conjecture, 
but also the entire body of criticism of the last thirty 
years has been laid under contribution. 

The description in the first edition of the scene of 
the opening action, "A desert place," disappears 
from the second. An astounding note of Seymour 
is retained to the effect that 

" the witches seem to be introduced for no other pur- 
pose than to tell us they are to meet again ; and as I 
cannot discover any advantage resulting from such 
anticipation, but, on the contrary, think it injurious, 
/ conclude the scene is not genuine.'' 

The italics are our own. In this notable utterance 
Shakespearean comment, often trivial enough, seems 
to have sunk to the depth of ineptitude. It is satis- 
factory and scarcely surprising to find that the later 
notes of Prof. Dowden and those of recent critics, 
including the second editor, are both more valuable 
and more interesting than those of earlier commenta- 
tors, with a few brilliant exceptions. Examples of 
the kind of addition due to Mr. Horace Howard Fur- 

ness, Jr., are found under the entry of "The Three 
Witches" and under " Hurley-burley," and in very 
many subsequent passages. Under ' ' Hurley-burley," 
the information supplied is from the " N. E. D." The 
instances we advance were taken from the opening 
pages. They are representative, however, and if we 
dip deeper into the volume we find the same level 

It is, of course, necessary in a variorum edition to 
present all shades of opinion, and there is no justifi- 
cation for anger at the tenth transmission of futile 
suggestion and ridiculous emendation. As a rule the 
new comments are worthy of attention. As a speci- 
men of enlightened criticism the reader should study 
what is taken (pp. 413 et seq.) from Mr. J. C. Carr's 
"Lord and Lady Macbeth" on the attitude towards 
Duncan of both before the action of the drama has 
begun. Without accepting all Mr. Carr's conclusions, 
it is pleasant to contrast such virile and thoughtful 
utterances with the attempts of critics of reputation 
at needless and indefensible expurgation of the text. 
Among noteworthy additions are an index and a 
reproduction, "for the sake of the costume," of a 
plate from Rowe's edition of 1709 of the scene in 
which Macbeth, in a full-bottomed wig and a dress 
of the early part of the eighteenth century, contem- 
plates the procession of Scottish kings who 
Come like shadowes, so depart. 

Howard Pyle. $1.50. New York: Harper & 

Rejected of Men. 

A Religious View. 

"Of all the multiplied 
presentations of the life 
of Jesus from, it might 
be thought, every con- 
ceivable angle, this is 
unique. There was a 
place for it. Why should 
it not have been done be- 
fore? . . . A strong book, 
with the substance of 
many sermons in it." — 
Zion's Herald, Boston. 

A Non-Religious View. 
"We deplore the pub- 
lication of any and all 
books of the nature of 
Howard Pyle's " Rejected 
of Men." We do not see 
any reason whatever why 
any one should want to 
read this book. ... In 
the first place, it is down- 
right blasphemous." — 
The Bookman, New York 

The *'Ncw Great Figure/' 

The New York American has discovered that Mr. 
Joseph Conrad is the "New Great Figure in Litera- 
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" In the early criticisms of his work Conrad was com- 
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scenes and characters and presents them as vividly, 
but with this skill he combines a largeness of literary 
purpose and a universality beyond them. 

Unlike Kipling, the mechanism of his composition 
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liant passages and you are only dazzled, when you 
turn back the pages to re-read the lines that have 
moved you so deeply. 

As for the people of his books, they are the actual 
beings of the life he describes. The second mate of 
a trading ship is a good-enough hero for him. He 
can make a fascinating chapter of a ship sailing with- 
out incident over a glassy sea, and a whole book of a 
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Every book he has written bears the unmistakable 
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is as good as the matter." 




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AyUARTICRLY Kecord of Shakespearean scholarship 
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